


We Got Married

by wouriqueen (MaggieBrown)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-18 05:38:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8151005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggieBrown/pseuds/wouriqueen
Summary: Bellamy Blake and Wells Jaha want you to remember not to get drunk. Ever.You might end up married.





	1. Don't follow strange men home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thebitterbeast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebitterbeast/gifts), [kirargent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirargent/gifts).



> **Prompt** : Bellamy/Wells (fake relationship).
> 
> Please note that while Clarke and Octavia are not part of the actual story, they can be frequently mentionned in some portions of it.

“Bellamy! How about you help a guy out instead of moping over there like a loser?” Miller calls from the other side of the bar.

He’s taking several orders at once and mixing alcohols faster than ever. It’s a busy night, despite Miller getting behind the bar to help out his employees, and although Bellamy came to distract himself from his own problems, he can’t blame his friend for being a little cranky.

He doesn’t really feel like moving, though. He still has a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that he got _fired_. He knew Arkadia’s mayor could be kind of a jackass, but he didn’t think he would be that petty … although that might not have been solely his fault. If Thelonious Jaha is annoying, the vice-mayor, Marcus Kane, can be even worse. Whatever – they both tend to forget their positions do not justify them asking for the impossible without any promise of reward. Bellamy doesn’t think they’re the worse men out there though. It’s probably just a sickness of the privileged.

Thinking back on it, Bellamy wonders what made his bosses snap. Was it the repeated visits in Jaha’s office, or the rousing speeches to the employees in the middle of the corridor? In any case, he doesn’t very well see how he could have watched them push their secretaries and campaign organizers to the burn out without saying a word. Roma would seek refuge in his lodge twice a day, leaning her head against the cool cement and holding back tears. Sterling, despite being sick and in obvious pain, was refused paid leave multiple times. Mbege carried a resignation letter in his jacket at all times and even Gina, always so resilient, looked two midnight calls away from a breakdown. Bellamy had been on the security team of that building for over three years, and none of the town officials who worked there had been half as bad. When they announced the town hall was moved there, he’d been wary – and he’d been right.

It’s all behind him now. It stings, because that job paid well and he almost had enough to really start his business.

Well. He’s spent the past 30 years putting off his dreams – for his mother, for Octavia. He can probably stand to wait a little longer.

It would be nice to finally have something of his own, though.

Downing his warm beer with a grimace, he ponders about going to help his best friend. That's when a new patron settling on the stool next to his catches his eye. He’s very handsome – tall with wide shoulders, smooth, dark brown skin and long eyelashes – however that’s not what gets Bellamy’s attention. No, it’s the suit: deep blue, thick, perfectly cut and clearly very expensive.

No offense to Miller’s establishment, but it’s not exactly the kind of place where people would go all dressed up.

The man probably just really needed a drink, though. He doesn’t look too happy, eyebrows frowning and jaw tense, which seems to have nothing to do with the bar and everything with the conversation he’s having over the phone: “Dad, I understand that this is important to you. I do. You know I’m willing to help you. … Look, I can go on TV, I can do charity, but I don’t understand how me marrying Clarke will help. …  The Griffins may be famous in their respective fields but they don’t have the economic and political ties that –” He cuts himself off and closes his eyes, probably hoping to shield his brain from the nonsense his father is spouting.

Arranged marriages. Could the elite get any more cliché?

There’s something familiar about the newcomer’s face, but Bellamy turns his attention away from his conversation. Listening any further wouldn’t be decent. Still, as he tries to let himself be distracted by the drunken antics of a bunch of students in a corner, the former chief guard can’t shake the feeling that he should know that rich guy from somewhere.

In the end, it’s the name he mentioned that helps him remember. Clarke Griffin. A fair-skinned blonde woman he’s met in the city hall a few times. Their encounters never went well. He doesn’t know much about her except that she irritates him, and that whenever she came by she was always with …

… the mayor’s son.

 _That’s_ where he’s seen this guy.

He’s Wells _friggin’_ Jaha, Arkadia city’s golden boy, adored by television hosts and charities alike.

(So they say. Bellamy hasn’t owned a TV in a long time.)

He’s just come to that realization when one of Miller’s barmen drops a whole bottle of hard liquor in front of Jaha. “Thanks. I need it” the latter says, nodding for emphasis.

Bellamy can’t help it.

He snorts.

And because he’s got a big mouth, he can’t help but add: “Getting drunk on a Thursday night? Must be _tough_ being a rich, handsome boy.”

The former guard expects outrage but Jaha simply quirks an eyebrow at him, unimpressed: "Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself."

The answer catches Bellamy off guard, and he considers the other for a while. Jaha doesn’t falter under his gaze and the former security guard allows himself a little smile. This guy is cooler than he would’ve thought.

“I’m just saying, this doesn’t look like your scene" he says, turning to truly face him for the first time, and recognition flashes in Jaha’s eyes.

“Uh. You’re the city hall’s chief guard.” Bellamy raises his eyebrows as some sort of mocking confirmation.

“I didn’t recognize you without your trademark hairstyle. Quite an exploit, I must say – not many can pull off the slicked-haired douchebag look.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. And I _was_ chief guard, yeah.” Bellamy replies with a bitter twist of the mouth. “Your father had me fired yesterday.” It’s meant to be vindictive, but Jaha’s uncomfortable grimace doesn’t bring him as much fun as he expected, so he adds with a playful smirk: “Apparently, I’m an agitator.”

“Yeah?” It’s clear Jaha doesn’t quite know what to do with him, half-amused and half-confused. It also looks like he’s checking Bellamy out discreetly. That’s something Bellamy always likes to have fun with. Smirking seductively, he leans towards the other man: “Well … I won’t deny it.” That has the desired effect, and for the first time Wells Jaha looks slightly flustered. Pressing his lips together, he pours himself another glass of whiskey and downs it in one go, before pouring one for Bellamy as well. “It’s on me. I think you need it more than I do.” There’s a pause, then he adds: “I heard about the whole thing, but I had no idea he’d fired you. I’m sorry.” His face is open and earnest, dark brown eyes shiny under the warm yellow lights of the bar.

Bellamy hesitates a little, but ends up accepting the drink. “I mean … you didn’t do it” he concedes. “I won’t lie and pretend I don’t hate you a little bit, but …“ Bellamy pauses and drags a hand over his face.

He’s suddenly so tired.

“This is just very bad timing. A year down the road and I wouldn’t have cared.” Wells watches silently as Bellamy downs his drink, then refills both of their cups. It’s silent for a while, and a little awkward, until Wells says carefully: “Not sure it’ll make you feel better, but you almost drove him crazy. I swear he probably dreamt of you, scared as he was you’d show up in his office. I’m pretty sure I heard him mutter 'damn Blake' a few times.”

That gets a surprised laugh out of Bellamy. “Really?”

“Yeah. Honestly, I was impressed.”

“Why, thank you Jaha.”

“Just call me Wells. Please.” Jaha gives him a real smile then, warm and steady. There’s a glint in his eyes too, as if he can see much more of Bellamy that the latter is willing to show. The former guard’s throat suddenly feels dry. Not answering his last request, he clears his throat and states instead: “I’m not really here for a pity fest or to pat myself on the back, though, so … why don’t you tell me what’s got you swallowing whiskey like water in this hole?”

“… Are you really going to act like you didn’t hear everything?”

Bellamy grins. “I meant to give you an out in case you didn’t want to share your novel-like life with a jobless stranger, but if you insist…”

Jaha laughs out loud, his shoulders relaxing under the cotton of his button down, but it’s with a bitter sort of amusement that he tells his new drinking partner about how he’s supposed to marry his oldest friend to help his father’s reelection.

“Clarke is – she’s one of my best friends. Always has been. It’s just not exactly what one expects from a wedding, you know? The worst might still be that my father and her mother have probably been thinking about this since that time we mistakenly hooked up in high school.”

“ _Mistakenly_?”

“It was an experiment. It lasted a week. No comment.”

Bellamy snorts. “Yeah. Well, no offense but I wouldn’t marry her either.”

“She can be cool. Really!” Wells exclaims when Bellamy raises his eyebrows doubtfully. The latter grabs the bottle and fills up their glasses again – “to cure you from your poor judgement, Jaha.” “Wells.” “Yeah, right. Wells.” – and they talk until the crowd in the bar settles down and starts leaving. Miller’s joint is popular, but it is a Thursday night after all.

 

“What do you even do? I mean, aside from playing mascot for your father?” It’s a little mean, but Bellamy is still a little bitter, and it’s the truth. Wells simply shrugs. “I’ve got my own business. I founded it with a friend, so I can afford to take a little time off it come campaign season.”

“Sounds cool” Bellamy muses. That’s something he’d like to have too.

They’re on the parking lot, getting some fresh air. Together they emptied a bottle of whiskey and half a bottle of vodka, and they’re trying to clear up their heads. Miller eyed them suspiciously as they went out, asking ‘his highness’ to call a driver and half-threatening Bellamy not to drink and drive.

Ridiculous. Just because Bellamy’s pissed about getting fired doesn’t mean he’ll turn into a teenager again. _And_ he didn’t bring his car.

“So all that parade with the charities, all the interviews, they’re purely for your father’s benefice?”

“I want to help.”

“You think he’s doing that good of a job?”

“I think others would do much worse”, he answers, leaning against the hood of his car, “and how cool would it be if I could influence the city’s policies?” Laughing softly at his own joke, Wells looks up at the dark sky. “Damn. I’m drunk. It’s been a while”.

“Don’t like drinking? You didn’t look like it in there.”

“’Can’t afford it. Too many eyes.”

“Wow.” Bellamy thinks about it for a while, but decides not to resist his urge to give unsolicited advice: “Look, I can’t imagine what it’s like, being out there before the public’s eye, but … you need to live for yourself a little bit. We all do.”

Wells shakes his hand like he’s heard it all before. “Then what? Let myself be humiliated in the press? Mess up my father’s career? Get myself shunned? Sounds less like fun and more like total chaos.”

“Your dad’s an asshole" Bellamy claims. Wells' eyebrows and mouth twist like he's not sure what's his position on that. "But I'm pretty sure he wouldn't do that. And what’s wrong with a little chaos?” It’s not the best answer right now but it sounds good. Wells seems at least partially interested. Somehow, in his half-drunken haze, Bellamy feels it means he should insist. “Look. I’m not saying you should throw everything away. Let’s be real, we’ve only been talking for a few hours and I don’t really know you. But loosening up from time to time always helps. And don’t tell me you don’t know how.”

Wells smiles wistfully. “I used to.” He looks over to Bellamy. “So … if I wanted to temporarily go crazy, what should I do?”

Bellamy smirks excitedly. He knows just the place.

Half an hour later and they’re in Wells’ electric sports car, off to Light City – also known as Casino City. They’re responsible adults, so they actually called Wells’ driver so he’d drop them off there. The man didn’t seem happy. Bellamy can’t blame him: it’s already 11pm, and Casino City is two hours away. It’s an actual trip.

Bellamy hasn’t actually been there often. For all he tells Wells to loosen up, he himself hasn’t led a carefree life. His first time getting _really_ drunk was actually in Casino City, at age 23, when Octavia was old enough to handle most emergencies by herself. Or rather, when she was old enough that he wouldn’t feel like he was a failure for being unavailable and incapacitated for a whole night.

There’s also the fact that Wells has to get to work the following morning, or that someone might recognize the “prince” of Arkadia even if they’re out of town.

They’re too drunk to care.

Light City is soon into sight. When they get there, they’ve sobered up a little. Now neither of them knows what to expect from this excursion _and_ from each other. It doesn’t last long – Bellamy really needs to take his mind off things, and Wells actually knows how to have fun. He’s a little rusty, but the alcohol helps. They fall in the same dynamic they had at the bar, an easy banter punctuated with moments of raw honesty. They try out a casino, where they stick to the machine games. Then they go through a few pubs and … a bunch of other places.

Truth be told, after a while, it gets fuzzy. _Really_ fuzzy.

 

* * *

 

_Bip bip biiiip._

_Bip bip biiiip._

 

“Hrmm … what the _hell_.”

A strident beeping noise brutally pulls Bellamy out of the dreamless slumber he’d been enjoying. Reality is much less comfortable: a serious headache and nausea welcome him to the land of the conscious. He shifts in bed, the sheets sticking to his sweat-damp body, and notices with a groan that he slept in his jeans. He slaps his hand on his bedside table, looking for his cellphone even though the ringtone sounds unfamiliar. When he finds it, Bellamy cranes his head to the left to look at it. It’s not ringing. There are a few unidentified papers there though, sitting on top of a large envelope. However, Bellamy’s attention is caught by another detail.

This is not his bedside table.

Bellamy lifts his hand to pat the headboard. That is most definitely not his bed. Rubbing a hand over his face, Bellamy finally sits up and tries to blink away the darkness of the room. Sunlight is filtering through thin wooden shutters, covering what looks like a hotel suite in stripes of gold. As he wonders how in the world he could ever afford such a place, he remembers who he was with last night.

He turns around and sure enough, Wells Jaha is on the other side of the king size bed, in his slacks and rumpled dress shirt. He’s sleeping quietly, long eyelashes fluttering over his cheeks. Bellamy observes him for a moment, but is soon taken away from his gazing by the ringtone that’s still blaring loudly. It’s Wells phone, vibrating madly over his own bedside table and making Bellamy feel as if a bunch of madmen were pouncing on his skull from the inside. Happy to have found the source of his grief, Bellamy leans over Wells and turns it off. The relief is instantaneous but the sudden motion makes him dizzy. He loses his balance and his arms give in.

Two hands come up against his chest to stop his fall.

“Whoa, there.”

Wells is staring at him. He’s not pushing him away, simply holding him in place. He looks very alert for someone who just woke up, although Bellamy has to admit his own senses are now sharper than ever, nerves blazing with the feeling of Well’s hands against his skin. It would be weird if it was any different. The mayor’s son _is_ very attractive.

The world stops spinning around Bellamy and he pulls away, the tips of Wells’ finger accidentally raking over his chest and brushing against his nipples as he goes. Swallowing hard, Bellamy lays back down on his pillows, holding back a shudder.  When he speaks, his voice is weak and rough: “You awake, your Highness?” Wells doesn’t answer right away. His eyes haven’t left Bellamy, hands still up in the air like if Bellamy had stayed on top of him a little longer, he might’ve done something about it. Bellamy dismisses it as wishful thinking and nudges Wells with his foot. The latter shakes his head, focusing back on his words, and laughs as he looks around the room like Bellamy had: “Jesus. How did we even end up here?”

They lounge in bed for another hour, chatting and trying to recall what happened after they left the second bar, then they gather enough courage to move. After calling to get their clothes picked up and ironed – “We’re already here, anyway. How did we even end up in a _suite_?” “You’re paying. You tell me.” – they order room service. It feels like the end of a too-short vacation; one they could’ve enjoyed more if they hadn’t been drunk the entire time. However, it’s time to get back to reality. They both need to get back to their complicated lives, although it’s two different kinds of ‘complicated’.

They shower one after the other and slowly get ready, Bellamy wondering what happens after such an unlikely adventure. Was it a parenthesis? Will they meet again? Bellamy normally wouldn’t care either way, but somehow, that’s all he can think about. He likes Wells. He’s attractive and Bellamy likes hanging out with him and talking with him. Even now that he’s sober.

Bellamy’s sitting by the bay window, eating the last of their toasts and trying not to ogle at Wells as he puts on his shirt. He looks impeccable, but anxious.

“You okay?” Bellamy asks. “Still hungover?”

Wells glances back at him with half a smile and goes back to fixing his tie, something Bellamy’s never managed to do properly even once. “A little, but I’m more worried about our little jaunt last night. If any reporter caught us, I mean.”

“Wells. This is _Light City_. I’m sure Light City paparazzi have bigger fish to tail than the son of the next town’s mayor. I know you’re not used not to matter, but _still_.” They both know it’s a joke, and it gets a grin out of Wells. Bellamy is quite proud of himself. Wells smooths the lapels of his jacket, and it’s when he mutters absently about the ton of things he’s got to do that Bellamy remembers the incessant phone calls earlier in the morning.

“By the way” he calls over his shoulder as he rinses his mug in the mini-kitchen sink “Someone tried to call you this morning. _Insistently_.”

“Yeah?” Wells looks around for his phone. “Damn, I didn’t even check my e-mails this morning. But they didn’t call back …” He finds it on his bedside table.

“Huh. Yeah. That’s because I turned it off.” When Wells does nothing but stare at him with raised eyebrows, Bellamy feels his face getting hot. He definitely overstepped his boundaries. He smiles sheepishly. “It was ringing like crazy and … hangover, you know?”

Wells snorts with a twist of the mouth that looks like it means “Fine, but don’t do it again” and turns on his phone. As he scrolls down his missed calls history and checks his texts and e-mails, his expression melts into one of confused terror. Bellamy feels worry settle in his stomach, and the pessimistic in him starts supplying a whole lot of reasons why Wells must be looking like that. Bankruptcy. Sickness. Car accident. Dead relative. Bellamy tries to shut down the little voice in his head making all these lovely suggestions; it’s hard, even after a lifetime of it. He walks up to Wells.

“What’s wrong?”

“That’s – wait.” Wells stammers. “I’ll just – Yeah? Raven?” He puts his phone against his ear and starts pacing nervously in front of the bed. Bellamy’s not standing that close to him but can still hear faintly the feminine voice on the other end of the line. “Look, I don’t know what happened. I don’t remember everything, okay? … No, I did go to Casino City, I did let out some steam with …” Wells hesitates, glances at Bellamy. “With a friend. Maybe we got a bit rowdy, but I can assure you, no matter what the press is saying, we _did not_ get married.”

Wait a minute.

What?

Heart beating faster, Bellamy mouths “What the hell?” at Wells, and the other raises his hand, asking him to wait a little longer. Confusion and the most displeasing kind of worry fill Bellamy’s thoughts. Something is going on and he’s part of it, but he doesn’t know what it is, his exact involvement and the extent of it all. He’s about to demand Wells ends his call and gives him an explanation when he suddenly remembers the stack of papers on his bedside table.

Could it be … ?

Just the thought makes him feel like he’s been drenched in cold water, and it’s with shaking hands that he picks them up.

There’s a copy of a filled-out application form for a marriage license, bearing both their names and signatures. Then there is an actual marriage license, completed and signed by the city clerk. In the top left corner of each paper, there is the town’s herald. Bellamy’s heart is beating so hard he feels like it might break out of his chest, shaky fingers fumbling with the documents. He picks up the last paper and reads it as well.

 

 

_Light City Town Hall_

_July 15th, 2016_

 

**_Marriage Certificate_ **

****

_I,_ Adriana Ndoumbe _, clerk of the city of Light City and officially capacitated to authorize and officiate marriages, hereby certify that on_ July 15th 2016 _, at the_ Light City 7 th district city office _,_ Bellamy Augustus Blake _, born in_ the city of Arkadia _, and_ Wells Alexander Jaha _, born in_ the city of Arkadia _, were united in marriage._

_This ceremony was witnessed by:_

_Aiden Grindburgh and Mi Yeon Park._

The first thing that Bellamy thinks is that he has no idea who the people who signed as witnesses are. No matter how hard he tries to remember, he can’t attach faces to their names.

The second thing is that Wells might be very, very wrong, and unless this is a very elaborate prank, they _did_ get married.

Ignoring the brown envelope sitting under the papers, he pulls out his phone and checks the Arkadia Daily’s website. It doesn’t disappoint: they’re featuring in the day’s star article, right at the top of the main page. The title reads: “Mayor Jaha’s son Wells has married an unknown face in Light City.” Bellamy stares at the big, bold letters for a while before scrollling down. He doesn’t read the article – the simple thought makes his throat feel tighter – but cannot ignore the picture sitting in the middle of it : it’s a selfie of him and Wells. They’re looking up towards the camera, eyes unfocused and smiles overly dumbstruck, the light blush on Bellamy’s neck definitely caused by alcohol. Wells left arm is around Bellamy, his hand cradling the side of his head, fingers deep in his hair as he presses his cheek against his. Right underneath the picture is another one, where Wells is kissing Bellamy’s forehead, with their marriage certificate in Bellamy’s hand, title easily readable.  

Apparently, both pictures were uploaded on Wells’ Instagram account, captioned “Meet my husband” and “We’re official!”.

On each picture, they’re both wearing a golden ring.

Oh, God.

Bellamy turns back towards Wells. He’s done talking and is now sitting on the bed, ignoring his phone vibrating madly in the sheets. When he notices Bellamy watching him, he wets his lips nervously.

“… I’ve got a thousand notifications popping up and calls coming in. Can I use your phone? Raven said to check my Instagram account…” he asks quietly.

Bellamy shows him the Arkadia Daily article without a word, and waits as Wells confirms that, yes, he did upload the pictures himself.

The poor man looks so petrified that Bellamy is distracted from his own panic for a moment. He wonders if he should show him the rest. Sadly, it’s not like he has a choice.

“Uh, don’t faint now” he mutters, scratching his eyebrow. “You still have to see this.”

Bellamy hands over the marriage papers to Wells, and watches him pale as he reads through them. When Wells raises his head back up, he looks like he’s truly about to pass out.

They totally, completely screwed up.

 

 

 


	2. All eyes on you, all eyes on me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught in the mediatic whirlwind of his accidental marriage, Wells works out a solution with Bellamy's help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the second chapter!

“So. What now?”

They’re in the back of Wells’ car, his driver carefully quiet in the front. He asked what was going on, but Wells didn’t have the energy to answer and simply told him to drive them back to Arkadia. He doesn’t have the energy to answer Bellamy’s question either, not yet. Elbows on his knees, face in his hands, Wells makes a noncommittal noise instead.

They’ve called the town office to check; their marriage is very much real.

Now, every area of his brain is devoted to thinking of a solution.

This whole affair affects so many aspects of his life, directly and indirectly. It affects his company, although they’re not in the kind of business where his clients would care about him having a lightning wedding. It’s completely different, though, if people think he only did it because he was drunk. Thinking about the selfies he uploaded, Wells cringes. They looked like they knew what they were doing – even though they didn’t – but they definitely didn’t look sober, either.

Wells is a grown man, and he’ll deal with his company as best as possible, although he’s feeling very sorry towards Raven – she doesn’t deserve such a moronic business partner.

However, it also affects his father’s campaign, and that is not his to mess up. He doesn’t want to ruin the hard work that was put into it and doesn’t want to give his father an excuse to tighten his grip on his life even further. If he doesn’t think of something, he’ll be indebted to him and won’t decently be able to ignore his requests. Wells doesn’t need to meet his father’s PR team to know the solution they’ll come up with to restore his credibility.

Brush off the whole thing as an elaborate, private joke uploaded by accident. Keep the witness and Light City office workers involved as quiet as possible. Get a quick, discreet divorce.

Marry Clarke.

Wells realizes she’s the only one who hasn’t attempted to contact him yet. He thinks of calling her, then remembers it’s only 3 am in Melbourne. There’s not much she can do from there anyway, aside from … never coming back.

Not exactly ideal.

The truth is, Wells already knows which course of action is best for him. The issue is that it involves Bellamy, and no matter how desperate he is, he can’t ask that of him.

Speaking of whom, he’s losing patience.

“ _Wells_. We need to talk about this, okay, we can’t just pretend it’s not happening.”

Wells turns his head to look at him. Bellamy emptied the brown envelope and has been going through the wedding pictures inside for a while – just thinking these words make his guts twist in panic –probably waiting for him to get it together.

“I know. Don’t worry.” The other man shoots him a _look_ at that, and Wells clears his throat. “I mean, I’ll handle it. This was my mistake.”

“That’s not true”, Bellamy contests, frowning, “we were both drunk. Look…” He stops talking, eyes shifting to the side, and licks his lips, visibly thinking about how to express his thoughts. Wells stares at him –  the way his jaw tenses under the skin, the freckles covering his face, his dark curls. He wishes he remembered what it felt like to have his fingers buried in them.

He’s really beautiful.

“I know this is not easy for you” Bellamy starts again, cautious. “I don’t know all the ramifications that this could have for a public person like you, but I understand you needed to get back home immediately and handle it. I’m just saying” – he sighs, leans back more comfortably against the seat – “let’s deal with it quickly. Set a date to go back to Light City and file for a divorce. The sooner, the better.”

“… Yeah” Wells agrees after a moment. “I’ll do damage control, then we’ll get a divorce.”

Bellamy nods, glances down at his phone sitting between them before looking back up. Someone’s been trying to reach him for a while. It’s on silent but Wells can see the caller ID ‘O’ flickering on the screen. Bellamy’s totally ignoring it though. Instead his eyes are trained on Wells, critical and worried.

“What’re you going to do?”

“Huh, I don’t know yet. Try not to lose clients. If I do, Raven will be pissed.”

“Raven? The woman you were on the phone with this morning?”

“She’s my business partner. We co-founded my company” he clarifies. “Also, I’ll make sure this doesn’t lead me straight into the arranged marriage I’ve been trying to avoid. Well, that’s not really an action plan…”

“You don’t say” Bellamy comments, before frowning. “Wait, what does it have to do with what we did? Don’t tell me Jaha would use this _one_ slip to act like you owe him your marriage or something? It’s not like it’d change anything.”

“Well, he wouldn’t put it like that, but …”

“That’s bullshit.”

Wells smiles, indulgent but without mirth. “It’s not just that. He’s worried about me, about my standing in life. But it’s also true” he goes on, settling back in his seat, “that it’d help maintain appearances. People will be doubtful if I just go to the press and claim this wasn’t a huge drunken mistake – just a joke between friends that shouldn’t have surfaced. But if I marry a girl from a good family who’s also my long-time friend right after all this, they’ll all quiet down.”

Of course, the only issue at hand being that Wells drunkenly got married to someone that was essentially a stranger, there is another option available, but again … he could never ask Bellamy to do that.

Bellamy’s silent for a while, clearly discontent with his answer, which warms Wells’ heart. Finally, he ruffles his hair in annoyance and sighs: “That’s a complicated life you live.”

Wells glances at Bellamy’s phone which signals three missed calls from ‘O’, and wonders if his life is really that much simpler.

 

* * *

 

They reach the outskirts of the Arkadian metropolis at around two in the afternoon. Wells is looking at the pictures they took the previous night, their wedding rings clinging against each other at the bottom of the envelope. On the photographs, they’re in what he guesses is the clerk’s office, a fancy place with plush chairs and trays of food lined with fake-gold. Wells didn’t know you could celebrate your marriage right then and there. Then again, there were only five people, including the photographer and the two witnesses, who appear to have been both drunk and high, judging from the rolled up joints in their hands.

Wells fleetingly wonders how much money Light City makes, marrying off people who’re clearly too drunk to know what they’re doing.

On the other side of the backseat, Bellamy’s leaning against the car window. Although he didn’t initially want to read the articles, probably feeling very intruded upon – Wells knows the feeling – he ended up doing it anyway. He’s been going through them with a frown for the past couple of minutes.

“Something wrong?” Wells asks. “If they’ve reported any false information on you, let me know. I’ll -”

“No, it’s all speculation. I guess they don’t know who I am yet. It’s just … I thought they’d all be outraged, you know? The golden boy of Arkadia, marrying off a guy of lower status in _Casino_ _City_ , of all places. Not that anyone would think this is classy, but … some of them are literally praising you.” He hands his phone to Wells so he can read it as well.

 

 

**Wells’ groom is not one of Arkadia’s 1% – the Jahas, simpler people than we thought?**

_They say old money is arrogant and elitist. The Jahas don’t seem to fit into that box: Thelonious Jaha’s son has apparently married in private a man unknown of Arkadia’s good society last night. While most would have expected him to end up with someone like, say, Clarke Griffin…_

 

The article goes on about Wells’ family being more ‘down to earth’ than they seem. “Is it like when celebrities are spotted shopping for their groceries?” Bellamy goes on. “Then people feel like it’s easier to relate to them. Which is a joke, honestly.” Wells raises his eyebrows at that. Bellamy grins, teasing. “How many of our fellow citizens can afford a suite in Light City?”

“Shut _up_ about it” Wells laughs, pushing Bellamy’s shoulder.

“You’ve got the money and the status, but the press thinks a poor bastard like me is a great addition to your life” Bellamy goes on. “Makes you wonder. They need their fairy tale, I guess.”

“They’d love it, yes. Breaking news: Thelonious Jaha’s mascot is _not_ a drunk crazy enough to accidentally tie the knot, but a lover who doesn’t care about social status.” Wells scoffs bitterly, then smiles a little apologetically at Bellamy, feeling sorry for the outburst of sarcasm. He turns to look outside the window. “I guess the bright side is that I wouldn’t even need to marry Clarke?” he mutters. He’s mostly annoyed that he has to navigate this kind of situation because of his father’s job and doesn’t realize what he’s just said until he notices Bellamy’s surprised expression.

He wants to backtrack, but … too late.

“So…” Bellamy begins, slow and thoughtful, “what you’re saying is that if they think we’re for real, your reputation is saved _and_ you don’t need to marry that girl?”

“Uh, that’s – it would be –” he stammers, looking for something to say and feeling incredibly guilty. It’s technically true – in fact, it’s the only solution he’s thought of so far – but he didn’t mean to make it sound like Bellamy had to help him fix this mess. It was his own circumstances that made everything complicated, after all.

He squeezes the other man’s shoulder.

“I can’t ask that of you. I’ll find something else.”

Bellamy looks doubtful but doesn’t say anything, simply nodding. It’s clear he’s not too enthused at the idea of pretending to be an actual married couple, and that reinforces Wells’ opinion on the matter. The rest of the drive unfolds in silence until they reach a quiet, residential suburb, at which point Wells asks Bellamy if he’s okay being dropped off there.

“Just to make sure nobody catches us around your place, it’ll be bad if the press finds out where you live” Wells clarifies.

Bellamy nods in agreement, then snorts. “Oh no. Am I about to become a celebrity, too? ‘Is he sincere, or mooching off the Jahas for money?’ My mother would roll around in her grave if they published that.”

There it is; another glimpse into Bellamy Augustus Blake’s life. The knowledge that he won’t have the opportunity to find out more leaves a slightly bitter taste in Wells’ mouth. He tries to take in all of him as the car comes to a stop along the curb, so that he can remember it for as long as possible. His hair and his surprisingly soft eyes. The map of freckles expanding under his collar, the way he nervously rubs the inside of his wrist. Wells watches Bellamy step out of the car. He watches as he leans down in the opening, looking inside the car … and he has no idea what to say.

Goodbye, probably. Farewell.

After the hours they spent together, never seeing each other again sounds like an awful shame, like something had just begun and they’re cutting it short. There are no reasons to meet up though. They don’t have the same social circle, his father fired him.

They’re not friends.

Still, Wells doesn’t manage to say anything … and neither does Bellamy, apparently. He’s just standing there, looking as reluctant to leave as Wells is to let him go. Misplaced hope surges in his chest.

That still doesn’t prepare him for the word “Deal” coming out of Bellamy’s mouth.

“… Deal?” Wells repeats, confused.

“Yeah. I’ll do it. And it’s my decision” he adds quickly, like he’s anticipating protests from Wells, “so no need to go all _mea culpa_ on me again.” He looks much less confident than he’s trying to sound.

Wells doesn’t dare hope Bellamy’s talking about what he thinks he’s talking about. “You’ll do it” he parrots dumbly.

“Yeah. I’ll be your real fake husband.”

 

* * *

 

The ride to his office feels to Wells like a tornado has settled in his head. He’s certain that what they decided to do is the best for him but … what about Bellamy? Wells doesn’t think the other man understands what his decision entails. They exchanged phone numbers and talked about it some more, Wells making sure Bellamy knew that means they’ll have not only to remain married, but to pretend to actually be in a relationship.

“Yeah, I’m not stupid. I got that” Bellamy answered, a little peeved. Wells couldn’t understand how indifferent he was, and assumed he didn’t get what he was walking into. He’d also rejected being paid for the act, which … Wells is bothered by the imbalance of their agreement, but he also didn’t want to involve money, for some reason. He’s kind of glad Bellamy rejected it.

“You might also get unwanted attention from the media” Wells warned, checking all his mental boxes and ignoring Bellamy’s scowl. He couldn’t predict how interested the press would be in his fake husband, but better safe than sorry.

“I _know_ that. Don’t you have to meet with your partner? Go take care of your business” Bellamy grumbles. Then, more softly: “If I have a problem, I’ll call you, okay?” The promise makes Wells’ heart beat a little faster. He can’t decide if his attraction to Bellamy isn’t that big of a deal or if it’s a potential disaster. In any case, he can’t make any genuine moves while they’re doing this. If Bellamy isn’t interested, it’ll make everything awfully uncomfortable and they wouldn’t be able to go on. It’s probably safer to just stop thinking of him that way and start seeing him as a potential friend.

Friendship is good.

Right.

… he can figure it out later. In the meantime, they’ll set their ploy into place and everything should return to normalcy soon enough. It’s a good plan.

 

Raven doesn’t share the sentiment.

“This is fucking stupid.”

It’s not anything Wells didn’t expect, so he ignores her comment and instead finishes his e-mail for the staff. Raven and him have known each other for years, and she’s been critical of this aspect of his relationship with his father since they met back in college. He was majoring both in business management and architecture. Raven was an engineering major specializing in construction. They met because they had the same minor – environmental studies – and although they came from different backgrounds and led very different lives, they quickly became the best of friends.  

“We’ll have a company-wide meeting at 6 pm where I’ll apologize for the disorderly and sudden news, confirm my marrying Bellamy, promise to deal with the possible consequences as personally as possible and ask that no further inquiries be made into my private life” he informs her instead. It’s not anything too crazy – the company employs barely 20 people, him included. He’ll also have to redact a short report for their current clients, and one for their suppliers, with apologies and a reassurance that all will be well.

Raven seems even more incensed by his non-answer and sits a bit straighter in her desk chair, vehemently pointing a pen towards him. “Once again, you’re trapping yourself in a crazy plot because you don’t want to let your father down.”

“This is also for the company, Raven. And you know I’ll be in even more of a bind if I let him deal with this as he pleases.”

“The company would have been _fine_ , Wells!” she exclaims, throwing herself against the back of her chair. “Sure, we might have suffered a tiny bit of bad press” she goes on, “but you brushing it off as a joke or a mistake would have been enough. We’re not in the kind of business where people will pay so much attention to this kind of thing that it’ll bring us down. It’s not even my job to know that, but I do.”

She’s not entirely wrong. EARTHOME specializes in eco-friendly houses and buildings. They haven’t had issues with finishing projects on time or paying suppliers in a good while, and the market is small enough that people wouldn’t be able to turn their backs on them so easily. It would still take them some time to fix their image – a company manager irresponsible enough to get married by accident and publicize it on the internet does _not_ look good – but it could be manageable. Still.

“What about the campaign?”

“Screw the campaign. Screw the politics. It’s not your burden to bear.” This entire conversation is a repeat of one they’ve had a thousand times over the years. Raven doesn’t understand why Wells doesn’t simply choose to say ‘no’. She says his constant worry about a more-than-grown man getting what he wants and achieving his goals cannot just be loyalty. “I’m not sure why you turned out this way but you need to do something about it, or you’ll end up burying yourself.”

Wells doesn’t feel like dealing with such a heavy talk, so he shoots back a playful: “I’m protecting my father’s job and escaping from an arranged marriage. I’d say I’m doing pretty well.”

“Yeah, right. You’re going to have to spend hours on end with a stranger, pretend to be in love. Good going.” She frowns. “Why did he even agree to this masquerade? Without getting paid for it, too. Could he have an ulterior motive –”

“He doesn’t” Wells interjects, cutting her off. He has no idea where he’s getting that confidence, but feels angry at the suggestion all the same. Bellamy had looked – he’d looked like he, too, wanted the opportunity to get to know each other some more. And worried. He’d worried about him. “He’s not that kind of person. He said he’d do it because he wants to help.”

“So you really don’t think he’s looking for revenge because your dad fired him.”

“No. Wait, how do you know that?”

“Gina told me” she says, evasive.

Wells raises his eyebrows, surprised. “Gina?” She’s an employee at the town hall. Raven has met the people there a few times, but he had no idea she and Gina Martin had been in contact.

“It’s new. No comment” she demands, the brace clamped down around her left leg clanking against her desk when she stands up to walk up to him. She crosses her arm and squints her eyes.

“How cute is that Bellamy guy?”

Wells looks away in faux–indifference. “You’ve seen his picture. Probably greeted him at the town hall once or twice, since you and Gina are girlfriends.”

“ _Tentative._ Don’t play with me, Jaha. You know what I mean. How cute do _you_ think he is, to actively stick yourself in some old-fashioned rom-com plot with him?”

Wells thinks about it for a while, but … there’s no point in lying to her about this. “I think he’s very cute.” He pauses, thinks of Bellamy’s smile, his voice, his eyes. “No, not cute. _Beautiful_ ”.

Raven sighs, cocks her head on the side and pats his cheek with an afflicted expression.

“You’re a moron.”

“Love you too, Rae.”

 

* * *

 

 

The conversation Wells has with his father is much harder to navigate.

Kane is the one who lets him inside the mayor’s office with a disappointed glare. Wells has known Marcus Kane for many years, and though he and his father weren’t always on friendly terms, they’re both passionate men. They have a vision for their city, and though Marcus would never break a law, much like his father he won’t hesitate to squeeze people dry to get to it. Wells nods at him then enters the room.

“Welcome back.” His father is already waiting for him behind his desk. The greeting is, of course, ironic. “I’m a little disappointed you didn’t introduce your boyfriend to me before marrying him.”

“That was … an accident.” Wells makes sure his voice sounds assured, but frankly, he’s ashamed.

“I gathered as much.” Thelonious sighs. “Look, I know you haven’t been able to live your life as freely as you would have liked lately. I’m immensely grateful for your help, but Wells” – Thelonious leans in, elbows on his desk – “you being one of the faces of our campaign also means you can ruin it. You –”

“I’m aware of that, Dad.” Wells wets his lips and gets closer to the desk. “Look, I’m sorry. I really am. I wish there was something I could do to change this, but there isn’t. It’s done. So how about we focus on fixing it, hm?” Wells is not sure the answer satisfies his father, who looks like he has a lot to say but doesn’t know where to begin. Maybe he thinks Wells doesn’t look contrite enough, but that’s because this day has already gone on long enough and Wells needs it all to be over. Maybe it’s because Thelonious doesn’t understand how his usually so responsible son could ever get into such a situation in the first place.

If he is thinking any of that, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he asks: “Bellamy Blake?”

“You saw the pictures, so you know. I heard you fired him two days ago.” Wells isn’t sure why he’s mentioning it, but here he is.

“I did. How on earth did the two of you end up partying together in Light City? No … how long have you known each other?”

Wells is not proud to recount the events, but he chooses not to lie. “We met at a bar in South Arkadia that night, had a conversation and many drinks. Then we decided to move our two-man party to Light City. Dad,” he sighs, “we were strangers with little to _zero_ opportunity to cross each other’s path again. We didn’t think it would matter.”

“You mean you were too drunk to think it would matter” Thelonious corrects, a disapproving frown on his face. “And how can you be sure that the whole encounter wasn’t planned?”

It’s a ridiculous idea and Wells can’t help rolling his eyes. “Because I never planned to go there. Look …” He sighs, considers the seats in front of his father’s desk and settles in one of them without asking for permission. He’s tired of feeling like he’s being tried for a crime. “I suppose you’ve already discussed this with your PR team, and I’m guessing they told you the most important thing is that no one finds out the marriage is legit.”

Thelonious doesn’t seem willing to let go of the Bellamy subject but he goes with the flow. Wells tells himself his father will soon wish to never hear of Bellamy Blake again.

“Their advice is that you give an interview where you explain that you and Bellamy met through some of the town hall employees” Thelonious confirms. “You bumped into each other, went to a party, and took some pictures as a joke that you accidentally made public.” He pauses, leans back in his chair. “You’ll still have to regain your credibility. They suggested charity but … I thought this would be a good time to go through with your marriage with Clarke. It’ll put an end to the rumors.”

“We’ve already talked about it. I can’t do that.” Thelonious opens his mouth to protest, but Wells cuts him off. “I’ve already found a solution anyway.”

“Oh. Which is?”

“Confirm that Bellamy and I did get married.”

Thelonious blinks, confused and annoyed. “Wells, the whole _point_ is to not make it seem like my only son and one of the spearheads of my campaign is out there behaving like an irresponsible frat boy to the point of accidentally marrying strangers. Which the media _will_ catch up on when they realize that you and Blake are not in a relationship.”

“What if we were in a relationship?”

“But you’re not.”

“We could pretend to be.” Wells shifts in his chair, wetting his lips. “We’d act as if the wedding was planned. Then in two or three months, when your campaign is over and you’re hopefully well into your mandate, we’ll get a divorce and blame it on irreconcilable differences. Bellamy has already agreed to all of it.” The last words make Wells’ guts twist with unease. He hopes Bellamy doesn’t change his mind.

For a long minute, Thelonious considers his son. Wells would probably squirm under his discontent gaze, if he wasn’t so tired. His brain has been in full gear since this morning. He’s also _not_ marrying Clarke.

“So what you’re suggesting is that we both let our professional credibility in the hands of an unprofessional agitator – someone who obviously resents me” Thelonious says, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

That exasperates Wells. He exclaims: “What I’m _saying_ is that we accept the help graciously offered by that man despite the fact that you _fired_ him! There’s not much you can do to stop us anyway.” It’s more standing up to his father that he’s done in years, so he feels compelled to add: “And if this fails, I’ll take responsibility for it and marry Clarke”. It’s a lie, but it seems to ease his father’s mind though. He can deal with that later.

“…Alright” Thelonious concedes. He looks a little taken aback, but most of all, worried. “You’re a grown man and I know you understand how important this campaign is for me. I’ll trust you for now, but Wells” – he stands up and comes over to squeeze Wells’ shoulder, looking at him straight in the eye – “don’t let me down.”

 

* * *

 

 

Wells goes back to his company to meet with his staff then gets home, showers and pulls out his phone. He’s had a long conversation with Harper who works on his father’s PR team. It’s not that he wants the mayor’s office to be involved with the whole thing, but she’s sort of a friend and if they’re going to do it right, they might as well get some professional advice.

“Are you guys planning on moving in together?” Harper asked. In retrospective, it should have been a given. Married people usually live together but Wells … had not thought about that.

“Huh, no. That wasn’t part of the plan.” He doubts Bellamy would still want to go along with it if he asked that of him. Wells himself doesn’t know how to feel about it.

“Alright … Well, you’re both around 30 years old. You can claim you need time to reorganize yourselves beforehand or something. Just make sure to really act like a couple – date, preferably in public places but not only, so they don’t suspect a thing; spend the night at each other’s; if possible, meet each other’s families, etc.” And, in a more sympathetic tone of voice: “Bellamy’s a good guy. I’m not even that surprised he was the one to offer his help. It’ll be okay, Wells.”

That made Wells want to ask more about his husband, but Harper had a meeting to attend to and hung up after promising to take care of the witnesses and the clerk.

Bellamy got fired for standing up to the mayor in favor of the town hall employees. Maybe that’s a thing for him, throwing himself in the fire for others’ sake.

Now Wells is sitting on his couch, fingers hovering over the call button, debating whether to call Bellamy or not. He doesn’t want to disturb him, but at the same time, it would be weird for a newly married couple to stay apart the night after getting married. They should at least go on a date …

Wells gathers his courage and calls. It rings four times without answer. Just when he’s about to give up, Bellamy picks up.

“Hm … Hello?” Bellamy greets, voice thick and even lower than usual.

“Hi, it’s me” he says, and clarifies: “Wells”.

“I know what your voice sounds like. It’s only been a few hours you know?” Bellamy answers lazily.

“Right. Were you sleeping? I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Yeah, I was actually exhausted. I guess I’m getting old” he jokes, “but it’s fine.” He stifles a yawn. “What’s up? Everything okay with your dad?” He sounds concerned, which gets a smile out of Wells. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it. He agreed.”

“Good. Hey, can you wait a minute? I think the neighbor’s locked himself out of his apartment – again.” Wells listens as Bellamy gets out of bed on the other end of the line. It’s quiet for a moment during which Wells can’t help but think about Bellamy _in_ bed. He remembers it clearly: the slow smiles and the black curls falling in his eyes. It feels a little weird that he knows how he would look even though nothing ever happened between them. They just slept next to each other. They didn’t kiss or –

Well.

He doesn’t actually remember. They _probably_ didn’t kiss. Even if Wells was kissing his forehead on one of the pictures. On some others they seemed to be holding hands. And Bellamy was shirtless in bed that morning.

Oh, god. Did they make out?

Wells swallows hard. He’s a little upset that if anything happened, he probably won’t ever remember, but that doesn’t stop him from imagining all the possibilities, and he’s suddenly feeling very _hot_. Of course, that’s when Bellamy picks the phone back up.

“Hey. You still there?”

“Yeah” Wells croaks. He clears his throat. “So, I was thinking … we got married less than 24 hours ago, right?”

“So does the certificate say, yeah” Bellamy answers easily.

“Yet we’re not together right now.”

“Uh. You’re right, that’s a little…” Bellamy says and goes quiet, seemingly thinking about it. “But wait a second” he goes on to say, “are you telling me the press is already after you? We literally just got back.”

Wells goes to his apartment’s window and looks outside. He can’t see anyone in the lamppost-illuminated streets. “They might be there, they might not. I just – I was thinking maybe we shouldn’t be waiting for them. People will see us and that’s what matters.” Wells cringes as he says the words. As a politician’s son it’s a familiar concept, but he hates it anyway. “Look, it’s … we’re going to need to be together a lot. If you want to back out, there’s still time.”

“No, it’s fine” Bellamy assures him. “I just didn’t expect we’d start tonight, but it makes sense. So… what did you have in mind?”

“Ah, yes. I was thinking we could begin with a regular date, like dinner. Have you eaten?”

“No, I honestly just slept through the afternoon. Dinner, huh?” Wells can hear the smile forming on his lips. “I have to say, I’m curious where you people eat out” Bellamy teases. “Just give me the address and I’ll meet you there?”

“I can pick you up…” Wells protests, before remembering it’s best to keep Bellamy’s home address away from the press for as long as possible. “Actually, you’re right. Do you have a car?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Just text me the address and what kind of place it is, so I don’t show up in the wrong outfit.”

“Alright” Wells laughs. “See you later.”

“See you.”

A little before leaving his apartment, Wells texts him _Babylon’s Gardens, 15 road Asteria, Alpha District, 9:30 pm_. _Fancy._

 

* * *

 

 

Babylon’s Gardens is one of Wells’ favorite high-end restaurant, food-wise, and the atmosphere is cozy and private enough. He gets there at 9:20 and picks a booth not too far from the entrance. He’s a familiar face, so people don’t have much of a reaction seeing him, although a few of the patrons do start gossiping discreetly. He doesn’t really notice, or care, because Bellamy’s texting him about the parking valet.

 

**_B: I’m here. There’s a literal valet. How rich are you?_ **

_W: Pretty rich. You hate that?_

**_B: I don’t hate you._ **

**_B: He’s not going to steal my car or something, right?_ **

_W: I don’t think he wants to get fired, so no ^_^_ ”

**_B: I knew you were the type to use emojis._ **

Wells laughs out loud, startling the waiter bringing water and bread to the table.

 

_B: I’m coming in now._

 

Wells looks up and … oh.

_Oh._

Bellamy’s walking towards him, and he looks _good_. He’s freshly shaved and is wearing a navy blue suit with black lapels and pockets, a black shirt and a black tie. The outfit is classic and elegant, though his hair is a little mussed, like he tried to style it but changed his mind.  In a room full of men in custom-made suits, he’s still by far the most handsome to Wells, who just sits there, dumbstruck … and breathes:

“Gorgeous.”

Thankfully, Bellamy doesn’t seem to hear him. He undoes the lower button of his jacket and slides in the seat in front of Wells, who clears his throat and tries again: “You look great.”

“Thanks” Bellamy answers with a grin. He stares at Wells for what feels like an eternity, making his cheeks heat up. “You look good, too. I’m not sure, but isn’t this suit nicer than the one you had yesterday?”

“Huh, yeah, it is. Thank you.”

Bellamy smiles again and looks around a little. “Looking at their clientele now, I don’t think my car will be the one they’ll want to steal. I _really_ hope your social circle is more than this kind of arrogant stuck ups though. Now that we’re married and all.”

“Hey! I have great friends.”

“Yeah, I won’t hold my breath.”

They banter until the waiter comes up with the menus. It’s obvious that Bellamy’s uncomfortable with the prices but he just jokes that “I knew this would be one expensive marriage” and picks his meal without further comment.

“Actually, I planned to pay for everything” Wells clarifies once the waiter is gone.

“Yeah … I’ll pass. I’ve already enjoyed a free night in a suite in Light City. I’ll handle this one myself.”

“Wh- Bellamy, come on. This whole act is benefitting _me_.” Wells leans over the table, tempted to grab his arm, but not finding in himself the courage to do so. “There’s no reason you should spend this kind of money on it.”

“Like I said –” Bellamy begins when a feminine voice interrupts him.

“Excuse me? Wells?” They both turn around to find a middle-aged woman with blonde curls standing next to their booth. “Ah, I wasn’t sure it was you” she simpers with a face that makes it clear she recognized him from the moment he stepped in.

“Hello, Mrs. Humbert” Wells says as he stands up to greet her, a little unsure. Bellamy stands up as well. “Nice to meet you” she begins, “Mr …?”

“Blake. Bellamy Blake” he answers, shaking her hand. Wells proceeds to engage in a pretty trite conversation with her, but Mrs. Humbert hums and nods without looking at him, instead scrutinizing Bellamy without any subtlety. Wells frowns and is about to ask that she leaves them to their dinner, but Bellamy’s faster: “Anything I can help you with?”

“… Excuse me?” She blinks up at him like she hadn’t expected him to _talk_ to her.

“You’ve been looking me up and down for the past five minutes, so I was wondering if something was wrong” Bellamy clarifies. He’s staring at her with a stern and sort of contemptuous look in his eyes that makes even Wells uncomfortable. Mrs. Humbert glances at Wells but he simply raises his eyebrows, as if expecting her answer as well.

She scoffs, flushed: “I was just curious. Thelonious’ son went and got married without warning, I’m not the only one in the room wondering who your husband is … and where you’ve met.” The implication is clear – Bellamy’s not one of them, and she thinks they’re a disgrace. It would be different had Wells been a new rich, but the Jahas are old money, and their kind does not look favorably on marrying down the social ladder. Because it’s a fake marriage, Wells hadn’t thought about how his family’s social circle would react, and now that he sees the insistent stares of Arkadia’s good society sat throughout the room, he regrets bringing Bellamy there.

Bellamy, who really doesn’t seem to care.

“We met at the town hall. I used to work there as a security guard.” He’s smirking now, and is leaning the back of his thighs against the table, looking smug when Mrs. Humbert chokes a little. Wells still doesn’t know what that look makes him want to do more – kiss him or smack him upon the head – but he suddenly wishes they’d be left alone.

“A _security_ -“

“Mrs. Humbert? You were about to leave, weren’t you?” Wells interrupts. He drapes an arm around Bellamy for emphasis. “We wouldn’t want to keep you.”

 

* * *

 

 

No one disturbs them again after Mrs. Humbert stomps her way out of the restaurant with an outraged scowl on her face. The rest of the clientele does glance at them throughout their meal or as they pass by to leave the establishment, and Wells can easily imagine that they’re everyone’s favorite topic of conversation for the night, including the waiters and waitresses. They don’t care. Or rather, Wells does care – he’s embarrassed and sorry that Bellamy has to deal with the contempt of arrogant assholes on top of the unsubtle curiosity they were always bound to get – but Bellamy turns it into a game, staring right back at people and mocking their reactions. He’s not talking so much about privilege and how much he dislikes rich people though, despite the fact that he’s probably not thinking any less about it as he looks around. Wells hopes that means his company is interesting enough that he’s having a good time, too. Time ticks away. They accidentally brush hands when grabbing the salt cellar, twice. Bellamy’s eyes are alive with laughter and Wells feels _good_.

“Thanks for the dinner, by the way. It was great.” Bellamy says an hour later. Wells paid for their meals – after three glasses of wine Bellamy was a little more pliant – and they drove in Bellamy’s car to the left bank of the Jupiter river, the one that crosses the utmost western districts of Arkadia. They’re walking along the portion of the riverside that’s not covered in concrete, the sand sliding into the water a few meters to their left. Coming here was Bellamy’s idea. Wells is glad he’s enjoying himself enough to suggest prolongations.   

“Worth the money?” Wells teases. He already knows his opinion on that. Bellamy just shakes his head with laugh and doesn’t answer. “Should we take our shoes off?” he says instead, and just like that, he’s walking barefoot on the sandy earth, his shoes in one hand and his jacket in the other. Wells hesitates only a few seconds before following his lead. They’re quiet for a while. The place reminds Wells of his mother. The Jupiter bank was their favorite hanging spot.

When she died, it was years before he could come back here.

“What’s that?”

Bellamy’s voice pulls him out of his reverie, and Wells looks in the direction he’s pointing towards. They’d seen some lights in the distance and assumed it was a party, but now that they’re getting closer they realize it’s some sort of festival. Here, the sand gives way to platforms made of wooden slats, and food vendors are lined up on their right. Wells comes to a stop.

“Wait, isn’t it a little too public for us?”

“Isn’t it the point?” Bellamy counters.

“You’re telling me you haven’t had enough attention for one night?”

Bellamy considers him, then the crowd. Finally, he puts his shoes back on, shoves his jacket in Wells’ arms and says: “Wait here.” Ten minutes later, he’s back with a large baseball cap and two cornets of churros. “There you go” he says, pushing the cap down on Wells’ head. “I don’t think they’ve seen enough of my face to recognize me. Now let’s go.”

They meant to just walk through it, but Bellamy wanted to try his luck at the shooting stand. He was quite good, but then Wells did better, and it turned into a never ending challenge. “What are we even going to do with all this” Wells laughs. They’re doing their best not to drop the countless toys they won. A few kids are hanging around them, eyes shining with envy. “Don’t worry, they won’t waste” Bellamy smiles. He crouches in front of a little girl sporting dreadlocks and a fairy dress that she must’ve won at some stand over her jeans, and hands her an odd, neon blue teddy bear. “Do you like this one?” The girl is initially too shy to even accept the gift, despite her father’s encouragements, but Bellamy coaxes her and soon they’re playing around.

It’s the sweetest thing Wells has seen.

They end up giving away all the toys except a pair of silver-colored plastic chain bracelet. Just then, they spot a few people with professional cameras taking pictures of them. “I guess the paparazzi _are_ doing their jobs after all” Bellamy comments. “Haven’t seen them at the restaurant.”

“They were there. I didn’t think they’d followed us after that, though.”

“Aren’t you familiar with their tricks by now?”

“Well, not really? They’ll pop up in my vicinity from time to time, but I haven’t exactly had the most exciting life since I came back from college, until … well, you.”

“Aw, that sounds like a compliment. I’m flustered” Bellamy teases with a smirk. He glances at the cameramen. “Should we give them a show?” He tears open the box holding the plastic chain bracelet and puts one on Wells, kisses his hand. The transition is a little brutal and Wells is so confused it takes him a whole minute to understand he’s meant to put the other bracelet on Bellamy’s wrist.

After that, they make sure to brush or hold hands here and then as they walk. Wells lets Bellamy initiate the contact because he doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries – he’s the one doing the favor, he should be in control.

Bellamy’s palm is rough against his. “What did you do before your job at the town hall?”

“Huh, I’ve done a bunch of stuff over the years. I’ve worked on construction sites, clubs, coffee shops, retails –”

“ _Retail?_ How fast did you get fired?”

“Not as fast as you might think” Bellamy chuckles. “Even I couldn’t believe it.”  

They talk – about Wells time in college and his company, about Raven, about Bellamy’s odd jobs and how he put himself through a carpentry apprenticeship and a furniture making diploma. There’s something in the way Bellamy smiles when talking about it that gives Wells the feeling it really matters to him. He asks about it, but all Bellamy says is: “I’ve got plans, but it’s going slow.”

Wells also learns that Bellamy grew up really poor and that he’s been working since the age of 12.

“Wasn’t that illegal?” Wells asks.

“We do what we need to do to survive”.  

He lived with his mother, who’s dead now, and a younger half-sister, whom he outright says he doesn’t want to talk about.

“What was your mother’s name?” Wells asks quietly, a little hesitant. Bellamy doesn’t seem bothered, and smiles.

“Aurora.”

“That’s beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

The festival is quiet now that people are leaving, and Bellamy and Wells end up sitting next to each other along the riverside. The wooden slats are hard under them, their legs dangling in the empty space above water level. They’re sitting so close their arms and thighs keep brushing against each other.

“Thank you” Wells says. Bellamy looks at him. Most of the lights have been turned off behind them. In the dark, Bellamy’s eyes look perfectly dark. “What for?” the other man asks.

“Taking me here. I had a good time.” Wells answers. He takes a deep breath, looks at the moonlight shimmering across the surface of the river. “I used to come here with my mother when I was a kid.”

“Yeah?” Bellamy asks, careful. Everyone knows the mayor’s wife is long gone, Wells remembers.

“Hmm. We’d mostly stick to the sandy side of the bank. We’d fish, sometimes we’d spend the night in a tent.” Wells snorts and adds: “I’d make her walk for hours because I was obsessed about finding weird rocks.”

That gets a laugh out of Bellamy. “Tell me about it. My sister loved that too. I think she even made one of her science projects about –” He stops brusquely, seemingly realizing what he just said. Wells wants to egg him on, but Bellamy’s smile is dim now and he changes the subject. “That must’ve been nice. Do you – doesn’t it hurt? Coming back here?”

“I’m fine now. It’s been 15 years.” A pause. “Do you like camping?”

“Depends why I’m doing it. Back then, we went camping too, but out of the city, on one of those public fields on the road to Polis.”

“Really? There’s not much there. What did you even do?”

Bellamy smiles, all white teeth in the dark: “Stargazing. The sky is so clear in summer; you can see the constellations perfectly.”

“Stargazing, huh? I feel like it’s more fun if you know the constellations. I mean, which one is Ursa Minor, Ursa Major and so on.” Wells squints at the sky, but clouds make it impossible to see anything. “I’ve never been able to tell.”

“I can teach you.”

 “… Yeah?”

“Yeah” Bellamy nods, and presses his shoulder against his.

They stay there almost all night, more or less obnoxious photographers snapping pictures of them from behind. Wells and Bellamy are probably not doing it right. They should be out there in the streets where people can see them, or at least walking along the banks so their stalkers can get a better picture. He tells Bellamy so.

“Do you want to move?”

“No, it’s perfect here. I just thought it was funny. We went out to be seen tonight but it all turned out really private.”

“Well, we can still do something for them.”

And without warning, Bellamy slightly tilts his head up and presses his lips against the corner of Wells’ mouth. It’s not a real kiss, but Bellamy’s breath is incredibly hot against his skin, contrasting with the cool nocturne wind. Wells slowly slides his hand in Bellamy’s hair, giving him time to pull away. He doesn’t. Instead, he puts an arm around Wells, his thumb stroking his side through his shirt. Wells has to summon every ounce of willpower he’s ever had to not turn his head a bit further to the side and taste Bellamy’s lips.

Damn it. He wants him so bad. What did Raven say again? Ah, yes.

‘That’s fucking stupid.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr at [ wouriqueen ](http://wouriqueen.tumblr.com)  
> My beta reader: [ scottmccute ](http://scottmccute.tumblr.com)


	3. Getting Close to You (But You're Running Away)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy has a hard time figuring out how Wells feels.
> 
> In other news, Thelonious pays him a visit.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

Bellamy honestly thought Miller would find the whole thing hilarious. The look on his friend’s face lands between incredulous and appalled instead. If he’s being honest, it’s a disappointment.

Nathan Miller has been Bellamy’s friend since high school. They’ve been through most things together – Miller’s mother leaving, Bellamy’s dying. Bellamy putting himself through school and Miller going against what his father had in mind for him.

Bellamy visited Miller three times a week when he did two months of jail time for theft, and Miller was there when Bellamy and Octavia fell out. God knows Bellamy needed someone then.

“It’s not that big of a deal” he shrugs, leaning back against the back of the couch. They’re drinking cold beer in Miller’s living room, a muted documentary on Antique Greece on TV, and in this very moment it feels as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Only the home page of the tabloid website displayed on Miller’s computer indicates otherwise. The picture is one of Bellamy and Wells walking along the bank of the Jupiter river, holding hands. Another one, right above a shock title in bright red font, was taken when they almost kissed, although from that angle, it looks like they did. Both pictures are dark and a little blurry, but they’re enough for the point to come across. They are Together. This is all Legit.

Bellamy didn’t initially intend to tell his friend the truth, but whatever. He trusts him not to talk.

“I should’ve never let you leave that night” Miller sighs, shaking his head.

Bellamy scoffs. “I know you don’t mean that.”

“Nah, I don’t. It’s all on you” Miller agrees readily, pointing in Bellamy’s direction with his can of beer. “You’re a moron. You don’t even _remember_ getting married.”

“Wouldn’t it be worse if I did?” Bellamy retaliates. He’s trying to brush it off, but saying he isn’t worried about his decision would be a lie. Concerning the acting bit, well – he expected it, and he’d be lying if he called it a hardship, really. However, the paparazzi were more dedicated than he thought. He acted cool in front of Wells last night, even more so because he didn’t want the other man to start blaming himself all over again. Now though, he can’t help but wonder if it’ll die down when people get used to see them together, like he initially expected, or if the press would get more invasive as times went on.

Miller seems to read his face because he attempts to reassure him, albeit unconvincingly: “It might still go okay. And if it doesn’t, well … Jaha’s family is powerful right? He’ll have your back, probably. I mean, he has _got_ to be at least half as good a guy as they say he is.”

“He _is_ a good guy” Bellamy protests immediately. Miller raises his eyebrows dubiously.  “Seriously. He’s much simpler than you’d think.”

“Whatever you say.” Miller leans back in his couch. “How much is he even paying you? Seems to me that if he really respects the efforts you’re making, helping the guy who fired you and all, he’d compensate you properly. At least you could use the money to finally start your business.”

“He did offer money, but I declined.”

“…You did what.”

“I refused to get paid.”

Miller considers him with his ‘Bellamy’s making bad life choices’ face for a while. Finally, he asks: “Then why on earth would you be doing this?”

Thinking about what to say and how to word it, Bellamy puts down his empty can of beer on the coffee table and leans back against the back of the couch.

“It felt like … a responsibility I had to take?” he finally says. “I’m partly responsible for this whole situation, but if I had simply walked away, it wouldn’t have cost me much, whereas it would’ve affected Wells’ job, family ties and personal life. He _wanted_ me to opt out, actually, but that didn’t seem fair. I didn’t feel like I was losing much doing this, either. But…”

It’s half a lie. Bellamy did feel like he should do something to help Wells fix the mess they made, but since the other man was so adamant to not let him, he was going to drop it. Not to mention, no matter how they try to justify it, that whole “fake married couple” thing isn’t the most reasonable move. It might be a common occurrence in Wells’ world, but to Bellamy, it’s … mind-boggling.

So he was going to walk away.

Then Wells’ car came to a stop, Bellamy got out of it, and it was time to say goodbye. That’s when it hit him that it would be the last time he’d see Wells. The Jaha heir probably didn’t even need to show up for the divorce procedure. Sure, they could meet up from time to time, but what for? They barely knew each other anyway. The night they’d spent together felt like two worlds crashing into each other for a few hours, and Bellamy suddenly felt that if he let this moment slip between his fingers, things would return to normalcy and he’d never see Wells Jaha again.

Bellamy thought of Wells’ laughter, his cologne, the feel of his hands against his naked chest.

He thought of it all, and the truth is that when he said “Deal”, it wasn’t only because he was feeling like saving the day. He wouldn’t have had the courage to get involved in that mess for anyone else.

“But?” Miller prods, nudging him with his knee.

“ _But_ I can’t say him being hot and charming didn’t come into play” Bellamy admits with what he hopes is a cocky smile.

Miller scoffs. “Wait a minute. You’re playing fake-marriage with the mayor’s son so you can _get laid_?”

“Don’t say it like that”, Bellamy grumbles. It’s not just attraction. He’s definitely starting to like Wells. He rejected the money out of pride, but also because he didn’t want it to ruin the easy dynamic they have right now. Getting paid might distort everything. “I just … want to get to know him.” He grabs another beer and gulps it down to hide his embarrassment. However, Miller isn’t about to drop it.

“You think he’d date you.”

“I don’t _know_ where this is going, okay? I’m interested, and I thought he might be too, but now I’m not so sure.” Bellamy had hoped for a stronger reaction from Wells last night, when he almost kissed him, but he just pulled away after a while. Not to mention how he generally didn’t make any move despite being the one insisting that they had to be believable. Bellamy always had to be the one to grab his hand or touch his face.

Perhaps he’s overthinking it and Wells simply doesn’t throw himself in the arms of people he met only 48 hours ago. Yeah. That’s a possibility too.

“Anyway” – Miller claps him on the shoulder – “Remember that I fired Murphy two weeks ago. Until you find something better, we’d be glad to have you at the bar for the lunch shift. That’s what I called you here to say.”

“No, you called me to get all the gossip firsthand and criticize my life choices” Bellamy smirks. His phone vibrates and he stands up. It’s date night – again. “Thanks Miller. I appreciate it. I promise not to beat up one of your guys again.”

“Murphy definitively deserved it.”

“Right” Bellamy laughs, stepping outside. “Text me the schedule. ‘Later.”

 

* * *

 

 

They get dinner for their second date as well – this time they eat at a famous burger place – then they go to the movies. Wells loves comics so they pick Green Lantern, but it’s terrible and they spend the whole screening laughing against each other’s cheek and eating popcorn (Wells likes it salty and Bellamy cannot comprehend such an awful way of life).

 

_B: What are we doing today?_

**_W: You can take a day off, you know?_ **

_B: This isn’t a job. I’m not getting paid._

_B: Unless you want to catch a break yourself. Just tell me._

**_W: I just didn’t want to pressure you._ **

_B: I don’t feel pressured. Make an offer._

**_W: Fine. The aquarium._ **

_B: … You want to go look at fish?_

**_W: No, I want to look at seaweed. You wouldn’t believe the number of varieties there are out there._ **

 

The aquarium is fun. Wells turns out to have a weird passion for seaweed, and he adorably stops to read every single one of the cardboard panels about them. He links his arm with Bellamy’s first, which is new, and Bellamy kisses his cheek in front of the sharks’ aquarium.

 

_B: This is your daily reminder that the day is over. Time to go home._

**_W: Are you monitoring how many hours I work in a day?_ **

_B: I’m looking out for you. Get a proper dinner._

**_W: I can’t cook._ **

_B: Eat out._

**_W: Too tired_ ** **_:(_ **

_B: … You think I’m going to go all the way to your house to cook for you?_

**_W : No, don’t bother. Sleeping on an empty stomach won’t kill me._ **

_B : Hilarious. Text me your adress if you love yourself._

They go grocery shopping before going up to Wells’ place. His neighborhood, while very nice, isn’t as well-to-do as Bellamy expected, and the neighbors they pass by in the stair case, while curious, don’t stare at him like he’s on the wrong side of the planet and didn’t realize it. Mrs. Humbert could learn from them. Of course, his apartment is still bigger than Bellamy’s house, garden included. Bellamy looks around briefly, lingering on the pictures hanging on the walls – some are of Wells and his parents, others are of Clarke Griffin, or a thin, auburn-haired brown-skinned girl who must be Raven. He then goes back to the open kitchen and starts pulling out the ingredients they bought.

“You’ve ever had Adobong Baboy?” Bellamy asks, pulling out the meat.

“I don’t think so. What is it?” Wells moves closer, curious.

“Restaurants call it Pork Adobo. It’s Filipino.” Bellamy begins crushing garlic. “I got a whole book of recipes at home. It’s the only thing my father left me.” He can hear Wells holding his breath. It’s not a very sensitive subject though. There’s not much pain there, not anymore. He smiles at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just … your father. You never mention him.”

“Whoa, easy there. We’ve only known each other for a week or so” Bellamy teases. Then, more seriously: “There’s nothing much to say. Even I only know what I’ve been told. He was there, then things started falling apart. They took a break and she consoled herself with some guy, except consolation got her pregnant with my sister. She refused to get an abortion, he left us. The end.”

Wells processes the information, then puts his hand on Bellamy’s shoulder, firm and warm.

“So how can I help?”

Bellamy cracks a smile. “You can sit down, open that bottle of wine and not touch anything else.”

**_W: How’s the new job at your friend’s bar? Miller, right?_ **

_B: Yep, Miller. I worked here for a while to help him out back when he opened, so nothing new. Everything’s pretty normal. It’s only lunchtime so, no weirdos. You?_

**_W: Monday. And a client told me he hopes I didn’t “drink and marry”… >_>_ **

_B: Damn. He’s onto us._

_B: You ate already?_

**_W: No. You?_ **

_B: Neither. Want to get pizza at that place near the museum? I hear they have an exhibit on Ancient Rome today._

**_W: An exhibit at the pizza place?_ **

_B: At the museum, smartass. I have to see it. Come with me?_

 

Bellamy wins his case and they end up at the Ark Museum.  They ditch the establishment’s renowned collection of romantic paintings in favor of everything Roman and Greek. Although it’s his first time actually seeing many of them, Bellamy knows the history of the most famous artworks, the people they represent and the meaning behind the paintings. He gets carried away and fears Wells might be bored, except he’s diligently reading the cardboard panels, looking a little impressed. Bellamy feels pretty proud.

“Yeah, I like this kind of stuff” he says when Wells asks him about it. “We didn’t have the money for me to subscribe to clubs or whatever back then, so I’d just hang at the school’s library and read about all this.”

“Why study woodwork then?” Wells asks, curious.

“I mean, I enjoy all this, but I don’t really want to be a teacher or a researcher. ‘Couldn’t afford it anyway. Woodwork … is I really got into it for some reason.” Bellamy slows down as they come across a sculpted bust. “This is the first emperor of Rome, Augustus Caesar” he tells Wells. “He was a member of the Second Triumvirate, an institution created by Julius Caesar that placed power in the hands of three individuals. Of course, it was just a façade – governments nowadays didn’t get their ideas out of nowhere.” He gestures towards the explanatory panel, but Bellamy’s convinced he’s doing a better job at explaining. “They acted like the Republic was still a reality, but both Triumvirates ended with one of the guys taking all the power for himself.”

Wells nods, but he seems to be more interested in Bellamy’s childhood now. “Most kids like spooky books –“

“ _Spooky_? Wells, please.”

“I mean, _scary_ books” Wells amends, shoving Bellamy’s shoulder. “Or they read comics or something. What drew you to antique history, of all things?”

Bellamy hesitates. They’ve reached an open space leading to several other rooms. He spots a bench and goes to sit down, followed by Wells. They came quite early in the morning so there aren’t many people, and it reminds him of those rare times his mother managed to get half a day off from work and bring them here. She wasn’t really into actual history – she loved mythology and epic tales better – but she indulged him and sometimes even sought out a guide so they could answer Bellamy’s questions. It was so long ago. The last time they came here all together, Octavia could barely walk.

“My mother used to read books like the Iliad or the Aeneid to me every night. After Octavia was born, things got really rough and she wasn’t so much around anymore but whenever she could, she would sit us down and read a passage. When she wasn’t there, I’d read it to Octavia. She only enjoyed it for a while – she quickly moved on to stories about dragons and pirates” he chuckles, “but it stuck with me.”

“Octavia? Like Octavian, Emperor Augustus birth name?”

“No” Bellamy smiles, pleased to find that Wells was actually listening to him, “Octavia like his sisters. I picked her name when she was born.” His smile turns into a rueful expression. “Not that it matters now. We don’t talk anymore.”

He looks over at Wells, who doesn’t ask any question, although he must have some. He’s simply leaning toward Bellamy, forearms resting on his knees, face open and attentive, eyes devoid of judgement. Bellamy leans his shoulder against Wells, gratefully enjoying his silence. What he gets the most from people about Octavia not being a part of his life anymore is “This is sad, you should try working it out” or “Are you sure the two of you aren’t just being childish?”

It’s nothing complicated, really, what pulled him and Octavia apart. It’s just two people who only knew how to be together, to the point that they couldn’t be anymore. Bellamy’s been living with it. He’s okay. He’d rather just ignore it.

 

Time goes by without Bellamy really noticing it. He and Wells fall into a comfortable routine. They meet up most evenings to get dinner, at first outside but rather quickly, at Wells’ place. He’s not really a good cook though, so Bellamy takes over his kitchen and soon he knows better than Wells himself what’s in the cupboards. “I’ve been cooking since I was 12 years old. Consider me an expert” he brags to Wells the first time they eat at his place.

By the middle of the second week, the press finds out where Bellamy lives. They take advantage of Bellamy having left the door to his small garden ajar to get in, and without even apologizing, ask him questions about his life, his family, and why he’s still not living with Wells.

Bellamy’s reaction isn’t kind.

Later, he asks Wells whether it’s bad that he threatened a few scoop-hunters of a beating, and the latter starts apologizing about Bellamy’s home not being safe anymore. Predictable.

“Seriously, Wells. It’s _fine_ ” Bellamy insists. “I’m honestly surprised it took them so long. I guess they were waiting to see if we were making them real money first.” They’re at the mall, where they just got coffee. A few college students pass by and giggle at Bellamy and Wells’ linked hands and their talking into each other’s ears. It’s become a habit, casually touching each other. Bellamy’s not any less excited about it though. He thinks Wells enjoys it as well, doesn’t miss the way his hand lingers sometimes on his waist, the times he brushes his lips against his ear, but as soon as they’re alone, the other man seems to retract into his shell. He’s friendly, warm and incredibly charming as usual, but he seems almost afraid of crossing the line. It’s a constant back and forth between the signs he sends him when they’re out and about and the ones he sends when they’re alone and finally able to do _something_ about it, and honestly it’s giving Bellamy whiplash.

However, if he confronts Wells and it goes badly, the next month will be truly awful.

Bellamy doesn’t know what to do to push things forward. In the end, he doesn’t have to, because by the end of the third week, Thelonious Jaha, mayor of Arkadia, decides to step in. Bellamy cannot think of many surprises more unpleasant than his former employer standing in front of his house on a Saturday morning.

 

“Good morning, mister Blake.” Jaha’s wearing beige linen pants and a grey cardigan, far from the stiff suits Bellamy’s used to. His smile is probably intended to look warm. The photographers a little further down the sidewalk are probably fooled. Bellamy is not. Jaha raises his eyebrows insistently, brandishing the pie box he’s holding, and Bellamy really wants to shut the gate in his face but he thinks of Wells, smiles as best as he can, and lets him in.

He walks back through the small garden and into the house, Jaha on his heels complimenting the tidiness of his yard and of the house. They settle in the kitchen and Jaha is pretty quick to ask personal questions – about the ownership of the house, his upbringing and his current professional situation, curving every one of Bellamy’s attempt at finding out why exactly he’s here. Bellamy opts for cold patience, but can’t help raising a daring eyebrow when his former employer asks: “Do you like men?”

“…I’m not sure why you would care.”

“This isn’t a ‘no’.”

“No, it isn’t. I’d just rather you stick to subjects that concerns you.”

Jaha lets out a sort of faux-chuckle, rubbing his thumb against the wooden table. “I’m afraid you seducing my son very much concerns me.”

The sentence leaves Bellamy blinking because … as much as he wants to, he hasn’t succeeded yet, so what could be Jaha’s issue here? Of course, he doesn’t phrase it like that. “We’re not involved. We’re _pretending_ to. That was the plan, right? The one you agreed to?” He’s faking confusion, speaking as if he was explaining something to a young child, but Jaha doesn’t dignify him with a reaction. Instead, he cuts a slice of the otherwise untouched pie for himself, then goes on:

“As much as that distasteful incident affected all of us, it’s not my place to pry into what exactly happened between the two of you in Light City. However, I _will not_ from now on tolerate any attempt at confusing my son.”

The word offends Bellamy, but Jaha raises a hand to silence his protest. “You may not have had any hidden motives. But sincere or not, I hope you understand a romance between someone like you and Wells is not acceptable. Not on my watch.”

Bellamy clenches his jaw, but does his best to appear otherwise unaffected under Thelonious’ cool stare. “Is that what you came to say?”

“No. This is a warning in passing.” Jaha leans back against his chair, relaxing. “My main issue right now is that for two people who were so confident about this fake-marriage act, you definitely are not doing a good job.”

“Oh, really. I don’t see the press complaining” Bellamy shoots back, thinking Thelonious has no idea how much more realistic he’d like to make it.

“For now. Some have been questioning you and Wells not living together, especially since you’ve apparently never spent a whole night together.” Bellamy doesn’t have time to figure out how he feels about him looking into the details of his relationship with Wells, as fake as it is, because Thelonious adds with an authoritative tone: “They’re getting louder. I’d like it fixed. Move in with him.”

Bellamy gapes.

He’d initially talked about it with Wells, but… “A - aren’t we supposed to get a divorce in a month or so anyway?”

“No matter what we do, the divorce will look too convenient” Thelonious sighs. “It’s no reason to make things worse by making it obvious you two never expected it to last.”

It makes sense – of course it makes sense. Still, Wells issued a statement about Bellamy not moving in with him immediately to protect him from the uproar of the campaign. They’d seemed to be content with it. He doesn’t imagine any paparazzi actually camped all night in front of Wells’ to find out whether Bellamy left at 2 am or actually slept there.

It could also be, he thinks, looking at Jaha, that the reelection campaign is becoming a bit more difficult to handle, and the man just wants to cover all his angles beforehand. Being found out now would be worse because they tried to fool the public. He should be angry. He’s not. Instead, all he can think of is what it would be like to live with Wells – to share their meals, their TV series and their daily inconveniences.

To share their mornings, and _maybe_ their nights. There’s only one bed after all, and the couch isn’t the most comfortable.

Memories of Wells exiting the bathroom of their hotel room back in Light City surge up at the front of Bellamy’s thoughts – broad shoulders and muscled arms, playful smile and smooth skin on display – and he grapples onto tangible issues to distract himself because his father is sitting _right there_.

“… if I leave too long, there’s no telling what happens to my house.” He clears his throat. “This isn’t an easy neighborhood, and I can’t afford to lose what’s in here.” As he speaks, he remembers all the pieces he’s been working on, stored in his garage, and it sobers him up. It’s not most of it – the rest is split between Miller’s cave and a rental container that costs him a big chunk of his monthly budget – but it’s still nothing he wants to offer up to the local burglars.

Thelonious doesn’t miss a beat. “I’ll send someone here to tend to the house and make sure your neighbors know it’s not empty. Will that be enough?”

“Does Wells know about this? Did he agree?”

“It won’t be a problem.” The answer irks Bellamy – does Jaha not even bother taking into account his son’s opinion, as used as he is to him agreeing without much fight? – and he raises an eyebrow, prompting Jaha to add: “You can ask him yourself later.”

“… Right. And when am I supposed to move out of here?”

“Ideally, tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s 10 am when Bellamy exits the escalator in Wells’ building with his two suitcases and his duffel bag. He’s decided to park his car inside the front yard of the apartment block until he gets an assigned spot in the underground parking lot. He could leave it outside, but habit makes it hard to trust his new neighbors, even though he knows they’re nothing like the former ones.

Wells opens the door in jeans and a white t-shirt so thin it’s almost transparent. Bellamy stubbornly stares at his face. He looks more anxious than ever, and this time Bellamy can’t roll his eyes at him because he feels exactly the same.

“I could’ve helped you carry that up.”

“It’s fine.”

They drag all his luggage in. Bellamy figures they’re going to figure out logistics next.

“So …” he begins, but Wells cuts him off.

“I’m really sorry about this.”

“What?”

“My father … I’m sorry he went to you like that.” Wells clarifies. His tone is apologetic, angry and panicked all at once, and Bellamy wishes he could just will his tension out of existence. “I know this isn’t what we agreed on. If you want me to tell him you won’t do it, I-“

“Wells, no. It’s okay. It makes sense.”

Wells sighs, leaning against the counter of the open kitchen, and pinches the bridge of his nose in apparent frustration. “This is not at all what I wanted” he groans at last, and, well.

That stings.

Because despite his worries, Bellamy was, for one, looking forward to this.

If Wells doesn’t want him here, what is he supposed to do now?

Face flushed, feeling hurt and at a loss, Bellamy stammers something incoherent and drags his luggage next to the couch. Guess he’s sleeping on it after all. He pulls out two plaids and an ornamental pillow from the tall closet in the corner of the room and throws them on the stiff bedding, takes off his jacket and neatly puts his shoes away in the entrance hall.

After that, he’s not sure what to do. Wells is staring at him with an angry and miserable expression, but it doesn’t look like he’s actually _seeing_ him. He doesn’t react when Bellamy speaks either, and he has to clear his throat twice for Wells to get a hold of himself again.

“Huh … what is it?”

“I said: don’t worry, I won’t invade your space. I’ll sleep on the couch and be gone first thing in the morning. You won’t be uncomfortable.”

“… The couch is awful. You can’t sleep there” Wells answers slowly, with the face of someone who doesn’t know what’s going on and is trying to catch on. “I thought you’d sleep in the bed?”

“Well you look like you’d rather die of a thousand ant bites, so…” Bellamy scoffs.

The bitter comment catches them both by surprise, and he watches Wells freeze. He feels a little sorry. He knows he’s not wrong to be pissed off when he’s the one who had to move out of his home and is still made to feel like he’s a nuisance. He also knows, however, that that’s not why he’s upset. It’s not fair to blame Wells for him getting his hopes up.

“I’m sorry” he huffs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I just didn’t expect you to hate this arrangement so much.”

“I don’t.”

That startles Bellamy, who looks up to a very confused Wells.

“What, did you think…? _No_. It’s not like that.” Wells walks up to him and puts both hands on his shoulders. Bellamy can feel them through the thin material of his shirt, he can feel the heat and the slow, small movements of Wells thumbs against his collarbones.

“Bellamy, I – I’m not angry at _you_. Or at any of this. I just wish –“ he sighs, still a little heated – “I just wish you didn’t have to constantly accommodate me like this. I promised you this wouldn’t go too far, and now you even had to leave your house. I feel bad, that’s all. But I couldn’t be happier –“ Wells cuts himself off and suddenly breaks eye contact. He steps back, pushes his hands in his pockets and finishes quietly, with a half shrug: “I’m glad to have you over.”

This right there. It’s this push and pull – the way he’ll stare into his eyes a second and avert his gaze the other, how he’ll lean against his back during their late night cooking sessions, then establish some sort of safety distance for the rest of the night – that’s what drives Bellamy crazy.

“Of course you’re sleeping on the bed. I’m not letting you break your back on that awful couch” Wells concludes with a smile.

“You know all you have to do is buy another one, right? Are you sure you’re rich?”

Wells smiles. “I was saving the money for my demanding husband. Not a day in the house and he already wants to replace all the furniture.”

And just like that, the tension is gone – sadly, only for a short while.

Wells remains unusually awkward for reasons Bellamy does not understand. They cook dinner, watch an old movie – Wells sitting up straight on one end of the couch instead of leaning against Bellamy’s shoulder like he often does – then they’re back to arguing, because Wells wants to sleep on the couch. It lasts over half an hour, at which point Bellamy just yields.

“As someone who’s taken a nap there once, I promise you won’t last two nights.”

“I’m tougher than you are” Wells shoots back, voice playful but not looking in Bellamy’s general direction.

“Yeah, right.” Bellamy sobers for an instant. “You do know I’m not going to eat you if you sleep next to me, right?”

“I know. Seriously, you’re the guest here. Relax.”

“Right.”

The silence stretches for a moment. All the lights are turned off in the living room save for the halogen bar in the kitchen, and Wells eyes are shining in the dark.

“I’ll leave you to think about me sleeping in your bed, then.” Bellamy aimed for teasing but landed closer to hopeful and needy, he thinks. Nodding awkwardly, he retreats back into the room, never cutting off eye contact with Wells. Closing the door works for warding off his embarrassment but does nothing against the thoughts of Wells sleeping just a few meters from him.

This is going to be a long night.

 

* * *

 

 

Wells is stubborn. Bellamy knew that. He is too, so that’s a trait he usually avoids criticizing.

Still, this is _ridiculous_.

It’s been two days since he moved in Wells apartment, and for the past two nights Wells has been sleeping on his god awful couch. Bellamy’s tried everything – arguing, persuading, flirting, even walking around shirtless, but the latter had proved particularly ineffective as Wells had literally ran away from the house that morning.

Bellamy took it as his cue to just give up trying to make him share a bed and settled on convincing Wells they should at least switch every night, because he has to work and looked a broken mess, back stiff and obviously painful. That led nowhere either. The fact that Wells seems to shy further and further away from him doesn’t help his mood, and soon, he decides that he’s had enough. Wells can act as if they’re strangers if he’d like, but he’ll at least behave like a reasonable human being around Bellamy and stop worrying him. He’s going to make sure of that.

When Wells returns home the third night with weird marks on his face because he “took a nap at the office”, which of course means he fell asleep on his desk out of exhaustion, Bellamy makes no comment, but as soon as he’s done showering, he settles heavily on the couch, intent not to move.

“Bellamy, come on. Go sleep in my – in the bed.”

Bellamy pretends not to hear him, shifting with a sigh that turns into a grunt. The cushions are old and thinned down, and he can feel the wooden platform on which they rest bump against his vertebra every now and then.

“ _Bellamy_.” There’s a strain in Wells’ voice. He’s had a long day, Bellamy knows, and is audibly running out of patience. _Good_ , he thinks. If he snaps, then maybe he’ll finally tell him what his problem is, exactly.

“Alright, just-“ Wells mutters, stomping towards the couch. He bends over, trying to lift Bellamy off the couch, but the latter resists and grabs the armrest with all his strength.

“Don’t sleep here!”

“Just take the goddamn bed, Wells.”

“No!”

Wells grabs Bellamy’s arms again, but he jerks back suddenly against the couch, making him lose his balance. Wells tries to catch himself on the back of the couch; his hand slips along the cushions.

He lands straight on top of Bellamy, his weight cutting off the older man’s breath and his forehead bumping into his.

“Oof” Bellamy exhales, wincing a little in pain.  He blinks the dizziness away and it takes him a few seconds to realize two things.

The first is that Wells is still on top of him, immobile, one hand next to his head and the other on his shoulder.

The other is that he’s staring at him _really_ intensely, pupils dilated.

Bellamy’s breath catches in his throat. He licks his lips, not knowing what to say – confused by the sudden change of mood, and Wells’ gaze drops down to his mouth, his lips parting slightly.

He’s so _close_.

As if on autopilot – Wells’ breath against his skin the only thing he feels and his own heartbeat driven wild by expectation the only sound he hears – Bellamy tilts his head up and bumps his nose against Wells’.

“ _Bellamy_ ” the other man breathes, voice low and unsteady. He bends down of his own accord to brush his nose against Bellamy’s cheek, sliding down in the hollow between his ear and the slope of his neck. That’s all the encouragement Bellamy needs – relief over finally gaining the certitude that his attraction is reciprocated, that he wasn’t alone in this, washing over him – and he turns his head to press his lips against Wells’.

 


	4. I should have worshipped you sooner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something to say about getting what you want, but most importantly, about finding the determination to fight for it. Wells' only regret is that he couldn't get there sooner.
> 
> Doesn't matter. It's not like the world is out of obstacles to throw their way.

Bellamy kisses him.

Wells didn’t expect it. He’s not sure when the mood changed, because the part of his brain that isn’t completely incapacitated by exhaustion was too focused on how utterly beautiful Bellamy is. It’s something he’s always known, of course, but endless work days, back pains that won’t let him sleep and the inescapable knowledge that Bellamy is in his house, waking up and going to sleep under his sheets, so close yet utterly not his, ended up eating away at his restraint. When he fell on top of him, face mere inches from his, it was hard to think about anything other than the freckles scattered across his cheeks, the scar above his lip and the smell of his skin – hardwood and citrus.

He already couldn’t resist when Bellamy brushed his nose against his, diving in to smell and touch more of him – barely, still feeling like he didn’t have the right to.

So of course, when Bellamy presses a kiss first at the seam of his lips, then square on his mouth, Wells restraint completely yields.

Bellamy’s kiss is not hesitant, but it’s light, and Wells pushes back with a bit more strength, cupping his cheek in one hand and supporting himself on the other one to settle more comfortably on the couch, legs on each side of him. Bellamy sighs in the kiss, opening his mouth invitingly and Wells tilts his head to slide his tongue inside, kisses him breathless.

He doesn’t know how long it lasts. He’s been wanting this so much that it’s hard to think past the softness of Bellamy’s hair and the warmth of his skin under his fingers. He sighs when Bellamy wraps one arm around him to caress the length of his back, his other hand settling behind his neck, thumb stroking the sensitive skin under his ear.

When he pulls slightly away to suck at Bellamy’s lower lip, the latter lets out a soft sound, between a sigh and a moan. Wells opens his eyes to look at him then –  his dazed look, the slight flush of his skin and his wet, shiny lips.

He is _so_ beautiful.

He tells him just that.

Bellamy looks startled, seems to look for confirmation in his eyes, a sign that he means it. Wells doesn’t know if he finds it. All he knows is the feel of Bellamy’s hands on his cheeks when he pulls him back to him. Wells loses himself in his kisses, a sense of urgency thrumming in his bones, afraid, for some reason, that this will end. He kisses Bellamy deep and hard, nibbles the side of his jaw and buries his face in the crook of his neck to kiss the supple skin there down to his collarbones. Bellamy arches into him, and Wells switches position to settle between his legs instead.

A faint ringing sound echoes in the large living room. Both of them ignore it.

“Your shirt” he mutters, pulling impatiently on the fabric, heat spreading in every corner of his body. Bellamy nods, pressing open mouthed kisses against Wells’ neck while simultaneously trying to take off his own shirt, which does not work out very well. Somewhere near the kitchen, the ringing sound grows louder. “What –” Bellamy starts but Wells, determined to get him out of his shirt, slides his hands against the sleep-warm skin of his stomach and his chest – remembering that morning in the hotel room, when something could almost have happened – and Bellamy shudders out a low, long sigh.

Wells is so turned on.

He bends down to kiss him again, but the ringing is getting _louder_ and Bellamy can’t seem to ignore it anymore. “Wait up, Wells, wait – that’s my phone.”

“I know.”

“I – wait, I should pick this up. It’s the ringtone I set for Miller. He wouldn’t call me at this hour if something wasn’t wrong.”

“… Okay.”

Wells pulls away, kneeling back between Bellamy’s legs. The latter’s shirt is rucked up all the way past his nipples, a soft trail of hair running from his navel to inside his pants, and Wells feels another spike of hot want shoot through him. Unfortunately, he can’t do much about it anymore. He wants to suggest that Miller might be drunk, or wanting to chat but he knows it’s not true because at this hour the bar is probably a full house.

Now that they’re not touching anymore, Wells feels his hesitations and insecurities flood back in. Bellamy’s slowly getting off the couch, observing him with considerate eyes, and Wells feels awful. Since they made that drunken mess back in Light City, Bellamy has been giving and giving, not getting anything in return. He agreed to put on an act, moved out of his house, and a little voice in the back of Wells’ mind starts wondering what the events that just unfolded meant to him. Maybe he was just fooling around, and Wells will scare him away with his feelings.

Bellamy’s life has been thrown to the media, and although he’s the one doing a favor, he’s not the one with the credibility or the power to fight back. Maybe now that he’s lost control over even where he chooses to live, at least on an unconscious level … he felt pressured to do it.

It’s not very rational. Wells is aware of that. He didn’t make up Bellamy’s hands on his arms, his back, his neck, his nails clipped short grappling against his skin for purchase, tongue licking inside his mouth. Now that this has happened, a lot of what he’d thought was Bellamy taking his role seriously or him being friendly seems like it could have been the other man trying to get closer to him. It doesn’t sound so crazy.

Still, as Bellamy hastily fixes his clothes and runs out the door, jacket in hand, after a confused explanation about ‘goddamn Murphy’, Wells finds he can’t keep his thoughts from circling around the idea that this was too good to be true, and it will never turn into what he wishes it could be.

 

* * *

 

 

The sun has barely started ascending in the sky, the few scattered low-hanging clouds above the buildings tinted in pink and orange hues, when Bellamy comes back. Wells ended up sleeping on the couch, facing the door. He startles awake when the other man comes in.

“Bellamy?”

No answer but a weary sigh. Bellamy turns on the lights in the kitchen and immediately starts looking for food, but Wells catches a glimpse of what his face looks like and adrenaline spikes through his blood. He jumps on his feet, goes to turn on all the lights and walks briskly up to him.

“Bellamy!”

Half of his face is covered with red runs. Wells thinks for a second that he’s bleeding, but quickly realizes that it’s dried blood, smeared here and there like someone wanted to clean him up but couldn’t be bothered to actually put in the effort. Pushing the dark locks falling over Bellamy’s forehead out of the way, Wells discovers stitches above his left brow. There’s also a large bruise covering his right cheekbone, and scratches all over his neck and arms.

“What the hell happened?”

“A stupid fight. Don’t worry, it’s nothing.” Bellamy mutters, calmly shaking him off. He makes for the fridge but Wells stops him.

“Nothing?! You’re bleeding.”

“I _was_ bleeding.”

“Whatever, you’re hurt! Stop acting like it doesn’t matter!”

Silence follows his outburst. It’s so quiet Wells can hear his heart clambering up his throat. Bellamy’s looking at him now, slightly startled. “Wells” he says quietly, placing both hands on Wells’ shoulders. “I really am fine. An ex-employee who wasn’t happy about being fired went to the bar with his buddies to sack the place. Miller and his boys are tough but there weren’t a lot of them” he explains slowly and with a reassuring, earnest look. That calms Wells down a little. He wants to brush the hair off of Bellamy’s forehead again, but the strange distance in Bellamy’s eyes dissuades him.

“They could’ve called the police” he murmurs instead. It’s selfish, but … Bellamy’s hurt.

“Eh.” Bellamy shrugs. “Murphy’s an old acquaintance from when we were kids. We don’t really care about him but I don’t think I would’ve called the police on him either.”

“He _attacked_ you guys.” Wells pauses. Bellamy never actually said that. “Didn’t he?”

That gets a small, tired laugh out of the other man. “Yeah. Yeah, he did. I don’t go around beating people up.” He hesitates there, then adds: “Not anymore.”

 _You did before?_ Wells thinks. He doesn’t get to ask. Bellamy steps back abruptly, face twisted by an emotion Wells can’t decipher. “The emergency services cleaned up my wound and all the scratches. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“What if he comes after you again?”

“ _God_ , Wells, it’s not that serious. Murphy got drunk or angry and made a ruckus. It’s his _modus operandi_. He’s got nothing to seek out revenge for, he’s the one who drew the cops there with all his screaming and breaking stuff. The idiot probably doesn’t even have enough to pay Miller back.”

“I thought you didn’t call the cops.”

Wells is hovering at a safe distance from Bellamy now, who, he notices, is acting a little skittish and looking at him as little as possible.

“I didn’t, the neighbors did. I told you, he took it too far.”

“Alright.”

Wells doesn’t know what else to say. Bellamy starts slicing fruits, visibly trying to end the conversation, and Wells decides to grant him that. He doesn’t know how to feel about it. He doesn’t think Bellamy’s lying about what happened, but his coolness, despite the fact that they were kissing and making out a few hours before, is getting to him. _He’s probably in shock, despite his tough guy act_ , he reasons, and decides to let him get some rest.

When Wells steps out of the apartment later in the morning, Bellamy is laying on the couch.

“Have a nice day” he calls.

Bellamy doesn’t answer. His shoulders are stiff in a way that indicates he’s probably not sleeping though. Wells decides to humor him, closing the front door behind as quietly as possible, and leaves for work with a heavy heart.

 

* * *

 

 

He tries to focus. He does. However, nothing – not the perspective of a new, big contract, nor the fascinating new environment-friendly house models Raven presents him – manages to take his mind off Bellamy Blake. Wells has tried calling, he’s tried texting, but all he’s gotten back is silence and curt, dismissive text messages. He doesn’t know what to make of it. Did he really lie about what happened last night, or is he just regretting what they did?

By 10 am, anxiety gets the best of him and he resolves to call Miller. At first he thinks of calling the bar, but Bellamy works lunchtime and might already be there. Then he remembers what Raven said about seeing Gina Martin. Gina, who knows Bellamy. Maybe, with a little luck, she could help him.

She can. She knows Miller fairly well – Bellamy encouraged the staff to ‘finance his best friend’s retirement’ when the bar opened – and easily surrenders his phone number.

_“Hello?”_

“Uh, hey. It’s me. Wells?”

“Jaha?” Miller sounds surprised.

“Yes. So… I know it’s not technically my business, but I heard there was a fight last night…?”

“Ah, yeah. God damn Murphy. Nothing too special. Why?”

“Bellamy was hurt.”

Miller chuckles. “We all were. There were five of them and three of us. Bellamy’s good, but he’s not _that_ good. It was nothing serious though, except his busted eyebrow arch. I made sure it was taken care of.”

“He still bled pretty badly” Wells points out tersely, but immediately feels bad, and adds, apologetic: “What about you? You’re okay, right?”. Miller just laughs again, confusing Wells, and confirms that yes, he is okay.

“So it was really just that? Nothing else happened.” Wells licks his lips. “He seemed … I don’t know, he seemed off. I thought maybe –“

“Look, Jaha. I like you guys, I really do, but I’m busy” he interrupts, before adding, sounding weirdly gleeful: “If you’re _so worried_ about Bellamy, confront him. I’m not sure why he’s all mopey, but the best way to find out is still to ask him.”

“What if he doesn’t want to talk to me?” Wells asks miserably, not expecting an answer and vaguely aware of how pathetic he is.

They’re not even friends.

Wells’ day goes by awfully slowly. He spends half of it staring at his cellphone, and the other half sighing into oblivion. He wants to care about Raven’s disapproving glances when he excuses himself from a meeting with their promotion team to try calling Bellamy once more – she doesn’t deserve all his drama – but he can’t. He can’t, just like he can’t stop his thoughts from ramping up from ‘bad’ to ‘worse’.

Maybe Bellamy regrets making out with him.

Maybe he did it because it was fun and now he’s uncomfortable at the idea that Wells might read too much into it.

Maybe he’s worried Wells might mess with his life if he doesn’t give him what he wants.

“You’re being absurd. This guy went up against your father when he was just a security guard. You really think he’s afraid of your family’s power? You think he’s afraid of _you_?” Raven admonishes him while he’s getting ready to leave the office. She’s rolling around in her office chair, a pen between her teeth, eyes both critical and worried.

Wells shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know, Rae. You’re probably right.”

“Then what’s wrong with you?”

Wells stops shoving files in his suitcase and thinks about it for a long minute. He’s not sure ‘what’s wrong’ with him, exactly, but if he had to take a close, real look at the whirlwind of emotions that has settled in his head the past few weeks, along with the desire, the joy, the adoration that Bellamy inevitably awoke in him, there was another powerful feeling gripping at his gut.  He wets his lips and turns to really look at her.

“…I’m scared.”

She frowns at that, but doesn’t say anything at first, simply considering him from where she’s sitting. Finally, she pushes herself off the chair, hands flat against her desk for support, and walks up to him with her usual slight limp.

“This isn’t about him not really liking you, is it?” she sighs. “Maybe it was” she adds when he opens his mouth to protest “but clearly you’ve got hope on that front. No, this is about you having to choose between him and your father.”

“Not everything is about my father” Wells mutters, not very keen on hearing another one of Raven’s psychological analyses, which are … well, usually they’re spot-on.

He’s just a big fan of ignoring his family issues until they go away. Or bury him dead. He’s not choosy.

“This one is.” She leans back against his desk.  “Look, I get it. I’m always criticizing and making fun of you about that, but the truth is, I do get it. You and your father are a team. You’ve been a team since your mother died. He had big dreams and you believed in him. You still do, and you want to help him, but you’re afraid of Bellamy getting hurt by being with you. You’re afraid of him leaving you because he can’t accept your choices. You’re afraid of your father turning his back on you.”

It’s all true, of course – no one knows him better than Raven – but it all leads to Wells having to examine certain aspects of his relationship with his father he didn’t really want to get into. It’s not that – he’s not blind. It’s been worrying him since his father asked him to marry Clarke, and he knows him claiming he wants to truly be with Bellamy will shed more light on cracks he doesn’t want to look at. But …

Wells thinks of Bellamy – his smiles, the cocky one when he’s bragging, the embarrassed one, the bright and open one. He thinks of his grumpiness in the morning, of the warm, pliant weight of his body against his shoulder when they’re watching TV at night. He thinks of the man who lost his job to boastful bravado but also because he fought for his friends, the man who sacrificed his private life to fix a mistake they both made, without ever complaining.

He wants this. If there’s a chance to make it work, he wants to take it.

 “Look” Raven says again, pulling him out of his thoughts. “There’s only one question you need to ask yourself. Do you want to be with Bellamy? If he wanted you too, would you give it a shot?”

“Yes” he answers without hesitation. “Yeah, I would.”

“You wouldn’t give it up for your father’s sake? You’re sure?”

He did so for others. Then there were the ones he held onto, but who ended up leaving anyway.

He’s ready to try again. If Bellamy’s willing.

“I’m sure.”

“Then you’re all good. Focus on the two of you” she smiles. “And Wells … a team is all about mutual support. If your dad really sees things as you do, he’ll support your relationship.”

Wells knows that. He knows that’s how it should be. He doesn’t think that’s how it _will_ be though, and that’s what scares him. That’s what hurts.

 

* * *

 

“We need to talk.”

Wells isn’t sure it’s the best way to start a conversation, not when Bellamy’s been avoiding him, but he knows he can’t keep on chickening out forever. Their evening last night was awful, Wells making miserable attempts at recovering at least their usual friendly banter, and Bellamy looking somewhere between sad and uncomfortable, like he was expecting bad news. Wells seized the couch, Bellamy shuffled into the bedroom, and that was it. Today’s dinner was as awkward as the last, and … it’s time. It’s make or break.

“Bellamy, I need to talk to you” he insists when the other man keeps busying himself around the living room – cleaning and organizing things again and again – pretending not to have heard him.

Bellamy looks in his general direction, but not quite at him, for a moment before sighing: “Alright” and plopping down onto the couch. Wells goes over to him and sits crossed legs on the other side of the coffee table.

They’re both silent for a long minute, until Wells says: “I like you” at the same time Bellamy mutters “I’m sorry”.

They stare.

“You like me” Bellamy says in a breath. It’s not a question. He looks – not surprised, exactly, but worried. As if he’s expecting Wells to take it back or immediately follow with a more depressing annoucement.

“I do. Why are you sorry?” Wells inquires, heart beating wildly in his chest. “Bellamy, what’s wrong?” he insists when the other doesn’t answer. Finally, he edges: “Do you have … regrets?” That gets a bitter laugh out of Bellamy, who runs a hand over his face.

“God, of _course_ I have regrets, Wells. We’ve been doing so well, and I just had to go and make everything complicated. I should’ve found a way to calm Murphy down back at the bar. The _point_ of this all is to protect your reputation, but now they all think you married a gangster.”

Wells is confused at first, but he follows Bellamy’s stare to the stack of tabloid magazines and more legitimate newspapers laid out on one side of the table. It’s been there since they started this, the both of them casually monitoring what was said about them, Bellamy genuinely wanting to help and Wells making sure the whole thing wasn’t getting too intrusive for him. He hasn’t looked at it for over a week, but he sees now that Bellamy has bought the newest edition of the Arkadia Daily. The cover page is a picture of police officers taking a lanky, dark-haired white man away. In the background, Bellamy is sitting in the back of an ambulance, getting his cut cleaned up. The picture is a little blurry, but he’s recognizable, a red circle drawn around his face making sure the reader doesn’t miss him. The title reads “Wells Jaha’s husband: Cinderella, or just a thug?” in bold yellow letters. Underneath it, the magazine dramatically wonders how Thelonious Jaha could have shared pie with such a suspicious individual.

Bellamy’s playing with his hands, frowning and refusing to meet Wells’ eyes. “I’m sorry” he repeats, shaking his head like he’s disappointed in himself.

Anger flares hot and red inside Wells’ chest, but not at Bellamy.

“Don’t. Don’t apologize.”

He rounds the table to sit next to the other man, hands going up to frame his face. “If anything, _I’m_ sorry, Bellamy. I told you this before, I never wanted this for you. You’re helping me, and all you’re getting in return are scavengers waiting for an opportunity to make money off your private life.”

“This is bad” Bellamy insists.

“I don’t care. So you grew up in a bad neighborhood with a few sketchy guys. So what? You went out there to protect your friend and his livelihood. I don’t care what they say about me and I won’t let them dirty your name. I’ll give an interview, make a statement, organize a damn press conference if I have to, but –” he cuts himself off and wets his lips. Bellamy’s skin is warm under his fingers. He slides his hands down to settle them on each side of his neck, thumb brushing the underside of his jaw.

“Please don’t apologize for who you are.”

They quietly stare at each other for a moment, before Wells bows his head a little and murmurs: “I’m sorry too.”

“I knew what I was getting into” Bellamy repeats for the umpteenth time, although now they both know that’s not exactly true. “It’s getting old, Wells.”

“I meant what we did. Kissing and the rest.” He doesn’t get an answer, so he barrels on, wanting to be, for once, as honest and clear as possible. “I don’t regret it myself. It’s just – I don’t want you to feel like you have to give me anything, or like it has to mean something.” He looks into Bellamy’s eyes. “It does to me, just to be clear. I – I like you.” He stammers that last bit embarrassingly. “But if you’d rather forget about it –” Wells can’t finish his sentence. He gets a little choked up, and it’s annoying, because he was planning on being cool until the end and act like he could take rejection graciously. How is Bellamy meant to believe that if he’s being like this?

As of now, he doesn’t know what Bellamy believes though, because he’s staring at him with raised eyebrows and unreadable eyes. Finally, he asks: “Was that why?”

“… Why what?”

“I’ve been trying to make this happen since basically the beginning.” He leans back a little, hands moving in frustrated gestures. “One moment I felt like you were really into me, the other you were pulling away. I ended up thinking I was making it all up. Was _that_ why you were playing yo-yo with me?”

Wells feels his blood rush to his face. “You- you were? I thought you – I didn’t think it was that. I mean, I wasn’t sure. I thought –”

“And you think I would force myself to make out with you because I’m scared of your father? Honestly, I don’t know what part of that concept is more offensive.” He doesn’t look happy. Wells suddenly feels stupid, and doesn’t know what to say. He rakes his brain for a way to recover.

He settles on the truth.

“I know it’s stupid” he admits, letting his hands fall off Bellamy’s shoulders. The other man catches them and holds them in his lap, despite still looking sullen. Wells is a little relieved. “I think I was just too scared to believe that I could have something that would be good and mine again. I was scared you wouldn’t want me, scared you’d leave even if you did, scared that my father wouldn’t accept this. I was being a coward, honestly.” He wets his lips. “ _And_ I didn’t want to pressure you. Really. I’m not looking down on you, it’s just – you’re basically stuck here.”

“I’m not afraid of your father, of all people.”

“I know. I still felt like every step of this – of what we’re doing, it was taking control away from you and I didn’t want to –“

“Wells.” Bellamy cocks his head to the side to study his face; brings a hand up to stroke a thumb along his cheekbone. “You weren’t being a coward; you were measuring the weight of your actions. That’s what adults do. But I’m a grown man, and if you think I might be uncomfortable with something, you tell me about it. Don’t be a silent hero. Especially when there’s no one to save.” He smirks. “And pro-tip” he announces, “if I kiss you first, chances are I’m not uncomfortable with the concept of, you know. Kissing you.”

Wells laughs and pushes his face into Bellamy’s hand with a sigh.

“If anything” the other man murmurs, scooting closer to him, “Shouldn’t I be the one worried about pressuring you? I’m the one doing the favor here after all.”

Wells kisses the tip of his fingers, the inside of his palm, of his wrist. “No”, he murmurs against Bellamy’s skin “it’s all good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I like you too, by the way.”

“Okay.”

Wells thinks his heart might just burst out of his chest.

Kissing this time feels different to Wells. It doesn’t feel like he’s stealing a moment – like maybe the world had a second of inattention and accidentally gave him what he wanted. He’s sure of himself, of being wanted back, and he knows they have time to figure this out. They kiss slow and tender, Bellamy coaxing his mouth open and sighing against his tongue.

Wells runs his hands slowly down the planes of Bellamy’s chest and stomach, letting himself feel the fast, deep thrumming of his heart, the warmth of his skin through the thin cotton undershirt, the way his muscles clench under his touch.

“Bellamy” he whispers when the other man is peppering his throat with wet kisses that send shudders down his spine. “Hm?” Bellamy answers, pressing a light kiss in the hollow between his collarbones. He’s taken off Wells’ tie and is halfway through unbuttoning his shirt.

“Haven’t you had enough of this couch?”

Bellamy looks up to him, eyes dark behind his eyelashes, and smiles wide and bright, taking Wells’ breath away.

“I sure have.”

The first time they make love, it’s slow and sweet, each of them trying to draw it out for as long as possible, trying to reassure each other that yes, this is real. This means something. Wells shudders as Bellamy’s hands roam hungrily over all the skin he can reach. He drinks in the way he looks and sounds under him – how he arches up against him when Wells sucks the skin right under his jaw and moans when he pinches his nipple.

“I’m happy” he whispers, and Bellamy smiles, soft and genuine, before leaning up to kiss him again.

 

* * *

 

 

Wells thought that actually dating Bellamy simply meant making what they were faking, real.

As it turns out, it’s much better than that.

He likes him – likes a thousand things about him. However Wells also realizes they still have a lot to learn about each other. It doesn’t worry him. It’s thrilling, actually, and every little thing he notices about his boyfriend – his husband? The word feels way too heavy – fills him with warmth. After weeks spent pretending to be a couple, this is what makes him happiest. Bellamy got to know his life for the sake of their act, but Wells didn’t really get a chance to do the same.

“Hey” he greets with a smile when Bellamy pulls up in front of his office. He climbs into the old Rover Jeep after throwing his garment bag and suitcase on the backseat, all the while ignoring Raven’s wolf whistles from one of the 1st floor windows.

“Good day at the office?” Bellamy asks, craning his neck trying to spot Raven.

“Yeah.” Wells pulls Bellamy in by the lapels of his leather jacket and kisses him sweetly. When he draws away, Bellamy’s smiling, a little embarrassed. He gruffly tells him to buckle his seatbelt. Wells has noticed that he’s been a bit shier since they got together. He’s not that good with being vulnerable in front of others, Wells realizes. He thinks of the open, almost desperate look on Bellamy’s face when they make love, and can’t help but lean over to kiss him again.

The drive to Bellamy’s house is nice and quiet, although anticipation is thrumming in Wells’ bones at the idea of visiting the place where Bellamy grew up. He only ever saw the front of it on pictures in magazines.

Clearly they come from wildly different environments. The neighborhood is not exactly the poorest of the city, but it’s still located in South Arkadia, and it shows. The streets are narrow, there are holes in the cement of the curb and of the road and a few streetlamps are malfunctioning. The houses too are narrow, and small. Still, all the metallic gates are barbed and covered with chains. It’s a world away from the wide, sunlit white-fenced suburban houses and the cozy residential buildings Wells has always inhabited.

The small garden is nothing spectacular but it’s clean, as is the house. The furniture is either cheap or home-made, and Wells imagines a younger Bellamy putting together slightly crooked chairs or stools. He wants to see pictures. It’s all wood or fake-wood, painted in deep blue, while the walls are white or light brown

There are pictures hanging off the far wall of the living room, and Wells looks on curiously.

“Your mother?” he calls, pointing at a woman with dark brown hair on one of the oldest-looking pictures.

“Yup” Bellamy confirms, coming to stand next to him. Wells hums, and Bellamy grins: “Are you about to tell me she’s beautiful?”

Wells smiles back. “Would you like that?”

“Why does everyone’s dead mom have to be beautiful?” It’s a subject they’re both comfortable with by now. “She looked okay, I guess. She had a nice smile.”

“Yeah, she did.”

They stare in silence at the pictures for a moment. Bellamy’s sister Octavia is on the pictures as well, but neither of them comment on it. It’s the first time Wells sees her face, though. They don’t look much alike, but their posture on some of the pictures suggest he’d find more similarities in their mannerism.

He charms Bellamy into showing him a family album so he can see more. It’s mostly pictures of him and his sister; half of their mother’s look like she was photographed by surprise.

A few kid’s drawings are hanging off another wall. “Yeah, um, that’s O’s. I put the rest away, but – it’s kind of part of the house’s ornament at this point.” ‘O’ is probably Octavia. Bellamy looks fine being on his own now, but it must be sad, living alone in a house that used to be fuller.

Wells is glad they’re together.

He gets the full tour of the house. Everything is quaint and perfectly organized, like Wells’ place since Bellamy moved in. He tells him he’s been taking care of the house since he was eight; it’s a habit by now. They take a look at the bedrooms and finally they get to the garage.

“I don’t actually use it to park my car, I leave it in the alleyway. The garage is more like a storage room.”

He opens the door, turns on the light … and an innumerable number of pieces of furniture welcome them. They’re all made of hardwood. Machines he assumes are used to cut and polish the material are sitting in the far right corner. Wells coughs a little at the sawdust floating in the air, blinking up at the piles of design chairs piled up on a wide table. Some of them have patterns carved into them, others are tended with cloth or old tapestry.

“Wow” he breathes.

Bellamy laughs, sounding a little nervous. “Is that a good ‘wow’ or a bad ‘wow’?”

Putting a hand on his waist, Wells murmurs: “You show me?”

And Bellamy does, eyes more alive than Wells has ever seen them. He goes on and on about which design currents he likes and which ones he thinks will take off again, explains the kind of wood he uses and the kind he wishes he could afford, how the machines work, and Wells listens carefully because this, he realizes, isn’t just what he happened to learn in school.

This is important to him.

Besides, Wells makes houses. It’s not that far off.

 

 

“That’s your passion. I didn’t realize.”

“Yeah” Bellamy agrees quietly.

They’re lying next to each other on the bed in Bellamy’s bedroom, which used to be his mother’s.

“What do you want to do with it?”

“Start my own business. Sell them.”

“I see” Wells murmurs. They’ve spent almost an hour in that garage. He likes the pieces, actually loves some of them, and Bellamy is clearly talented at the craft. He wonders if that could work out. Bellamy seems to read his thoughts, because he chuckles. “Are you worried I’m being too much of a dreamer? Don’t worry, I’m not going to stop working and burn all my savings in a risky business. I’ve got stock, I can go slow. And I know what fighting scrape and nails to get what you want feels like.” He turns his head to look at Wells and swallows hard, face suddenly serious. “And I know sometimes you just don’t get it. Trust me on that.”

There’s an edge to Bellamy’s voice that makes Wells roll on his side and caress his face softly. “Well you’ve got me” he murmurs, then kisses him soft and slow.

 

* * *

 

 

Time goes by, and Wells thinks they’re as happy as they could be at the moment. He gets to spend his evenings, nights and mornings with Bellamy. They keep going on dates, minding the press even less than they previously did. It’s not like there’s much to write about them anyway. ‘Newsflash: married couple is in love.’ Nothing exciting. A few tabloids relay the information that their passion seems to have kicked up a notch since the ‘bar incident’ and wonder if it’s a result of Wells’ ‘chivalrous defense’ of his husband.

Although Miller also confirmed what happened on TV – which Bellamy didn’t like, not wanting to involve his friend in their drama – he did give several interviews, including a TV one, to clarify what had happened. Bellamy watched the whole thing, which was embarrassing, especially because he got carried away and declared that Bellamy Blake was ‘a beautiful and giving person’ to the people he loves, that he ‘risked his safety for his friend’ and he wasn’t going to allow news media to ‘slander his husband for ratings.’

Bellamy laughed at him. He also kissed him. In Wells’ opinion, it was an overall success.

The first meeting between Bellamy and Raven is a bit less of a success, mostly because it’s not actually their _first_ , and the actual one at the town hall was, by all accounts, not that great. Wells doesn’t really know what to do.

As it turns out, there’s nothing he needs to do: Bellamy and Raven somehow start getting along. He’s not sure how it happened.

“Turns out they have more in common than they thought” Gina explains. “Also they love you.”

As for Miller, he doesn’t comment on their new relationship status, but he keeps giving Wells free drinks when he swings by, so he supposes the bar owner is glad for them.

To sum it up, they’re happy and people are happy that they are.

Well, except one person.

 

 

“You’ve got a phone call.”

They’re having dinner on a Saturday night. For once, Wells cooked, claiming that there was no reason a good student couldn’t follow a recipe. He settled in the kitchen all afternoon and forbade Bellamy to even set a foot there. Bellamy pointed out, from his seat on the couch, that it was an open kitchen so he could see everything anyway. Wells ignored him.

Just like he’s been ignoring his cellphone desperately vibrating on the table for the past ten minutes.

Bellamy frowns at it, and Wells turns it off. “Sorry.”

“You could have just picked up.”

“Nah, it’s okay. It’s not important.”

Bellamy hums. Wells can see he’s not convinced, but for now he doesn’t feel like having the conversation picking up the phone entails, especially not in front of Bellamy.

“It’s your father, isn’t it?”

He hesitates, then nods wordlessly.

“It’s about that fight at Miller’s making the headlines?”

“No, come on, that was a while ago. Not to mention, it had a positive outcome. They’re now spinning the Cinderella story at full throttle.” Wells smiles apologetically when Bellamy grimaces. He hates when the press calls him that.

“Then what is it?”

With time, Wells has learned to read Bellamy, and the way he’s looking at him right now – sitting straight on his chair, eyes eerily neutral but face closed – means lying or evading will get him in trouble.

He sighs, rakes a hand through his hair. “He’s … worried about our relationship status.”

By which he means, he’s worried about Wells actually falling in love with Bellamy. Thelonious Jaha is not an idiot. No one who cares missed the increased liberty with which they touch and kiss in public, and if that wasn’t enough to worry him, Wells’ passionate interview on TV was the nail in the coffin. He’s been demanding answers and Wells has been evading.

He expects to have to explain all that to Bellamy and is already scrambling to find ways to say ‘My father thinks you’re not good enough for me’ without hurting him, but Bellamy scoffs, nods in understanding and resumes eating.

“… You’re not curious about what that means?”

“I know what it means. He’s been clear he didn’t want me to – what was it again? _Confuse_ you.”

“Wait. He threatened you?!” Wells has never heard of it, and the thought of his father going behind his back to tell Bellamy he’s worthless makes him furious.

“Not really” Bellamy reassures him, softening his voice. “He just said he wouldn’t let someone like me be with you.”

“That’s offensive, and that’s still a threat.”

Bellamy smiles. “I’ve heard worse. Look, he doesn’t even know for sure that we’re together, so what does it matter?”

“I want him to know.”

The declaration surprises both of them, but Wells sees Bellamy’s shoulders sag in what looks like relief, and he feels surer. “There’s no point in delaying” he murmurs. “Him finding out now or later won’t change his reaction. We might as well do it now.”

“You’re going to call him?”

“… No. I want to do it face to face. I’ll pick a date.”

Wells turns his phone back on to send the text, but can’t even finish it before it starts ringing again. It’s not his father though, but Harper, who leads his PR team.

“Tell my father I’m texting him right now” Wells huffs when he picks up, frowning. “He doesn’t have to go through you –“

“This isn’t about your father. It’s about Bellamy.” She sounds upset. “Someone’s threatening to sell information about his mother to the press. We need to meet up.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is updating so slowly, I'm really sorry. Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the organizers of this exchange, as well as to my beta reader and sometimes idea provider [ scottmccute ](http://scottmccute.tumblr.com) .


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